


She Walks in Shadow

by ISeeFire



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bilba is a BAMF, Character Study, Drama & Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, Filbo - Freeform, Fix It, Gen, Genderswap, Slow Build, Survivor Guilt, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tragic Romance, always a girl bilbo, character driven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2019-08-20 02:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/pseuds/ISeeFire
Summary: The Line of Durin fell, and Bilba Baggins felt as if she fell along with them.Unable to find peace upon returning to the Shire, she takes to the road and spends her life alone, fighting to protect the weak, training in futility to fight a battle long since won, and to save those long since buried under stone.Her road is a lonely one, but one she feels she deserves for her failures to save the ones she loved.The One, she loved.She once thought she would find peace in death, and in the hope of seeing those she loved in the afterlife, but it seems even that is to be denied her, for as her eyes close in death, they open again - to find herself back in Bag End.And the date on the calendar is the day a wizard once appeared, and asked her to join in on an adventure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [History Teaches Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127568) by [Drenagon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drenagon/pseuds/Drenagon). 



Bilba Baggins died on a cold hilltop, late in the autumn of the year 2941.

 

It would take decades for her body to catch up to that fact.

 

After what felt like a lifetime of throwing herself into the arms of every battle and fight that came her way, the end finally came, as it so often seemed to do, unexpectedly. It wasn't in a battle, it didn't happen during some grand struggle against an unstoppable foe, there were no innocents standing by, waiting with bated breath for her to save them.

 

She’d simply stopped for lunch.

 

The weather was in the process of turning from winter to spring, leaving the day pleasantly warm but with a slight bite to the air that tried, unsuccessfully, to cut through her leather armor, or lift one of the strands of auburn hair she kept cut short and swept back from her face.

 

Once, in another lifetime, she'd have greeted the day from the comfort of her own bed, nestled within the halls of a home that had been important to her for reasons she could no longer remember. She'd have probably stayed abed for a time, before getting up to make a pot of tea to enjoy on the bench at the foot of her walkway.

 

So much time she'd wasted then, as if the hours of her life were infinite and could simply be squandered at will, without care.

 

Without consequence.

 

Now, she awoke in a bedroll, before the sun rose, body attuned to the time as accurately as if she still carried a pocket watch, already mentally preparing for the routine she'd repeated day after day, year after year. Wake up, eat, pack up and set out, always moving, trekking along invisible paths and trails established in her mind from years of traveling them.

 

Paths that forever led away, but rarely ever to, anything.

 

Once the sun was directly overhead, she found a quiet clearing and stopped to rest. She prepared a cold meal and ate it in silence, idly listening to the rustle of the breeze in the trees, the quiet chirrups and trills of birds and the faint sound of animals moving through the brush.

 

She hadn't traveled this area in a few years and, while she had a general idea of where she was, an exact location was lost to her. It didn't particularly matter, in the end. All that mattered was that it was isolated, and there wasn't a mountain in sight.

 

She’d loved the mountains once or was pretty sure she had. That had been so long ago, however, it felt like little more than a dream had by a stranger.

 

Nowadays, she couldn't stomach the sight of them and made sure any route she took allowed her to avoid them, entirely if possible.  

 

In hindsight, it wasn't the best idea she'd ever had. She should have spread her travels out, gone further, stayed longer, moved in different directions.

 

Should have, could have, would have.

 

Didn’t.

 

She'd finished her meal and began to pack up, her mind nearly entering a trance as she repeated actions she'd done a thousand times before, when she heard the distinct sound of approaching hoofbeats. Several horses, her mind corrected after a moment, coming straight toward her.

 

And they were far closer than they should have been able to get without her having already heard them.

 

Biting back an oath, Bilba quickly gathered up the last remnants of her meal, and then grabbed her pack and gear. Staying low, she ran toward the edge of the small clearing she'd stopped in and took up refuge behind the trunk of a large tree.

 

Once safely behind it, she carefully dropped to one knee and drew out the twin blades strapped crossways to her back. The short swords had seen her through many a battle in the past and showed it with pits and chips from repeated use and long stretches between repairs. She wasn't their original owner, but she'd fought with them long enough that they almost felt like extensions of her own body, her grip on them as natural as if she were holding a fork or spoon.

 

If whoever was coming had somehow spotted her earlier, and thought her an easy target, they would soon find out they were wrong. Very wrong.

 

From the other side of the tree, the hoofbeats entered the clearing, and came to a stop. Bilba held her breath, waiting for the sound of voices, the noise of a camp being set up, a challenge. Anything.

 

She heard nothing.

 

She frowned, and her mood darkened. This was the sort of stunt Gandalf would pull, she thought in irritation. She rarely saw him and had made a point of avoiding him all together over the last ten or fifteen years. That was when he'd started getting nosey, questioning why it was she didn't seem to be aging, why she still looked, and felt, as young and healthy as she had all those years ago when he'd first approached her and asked her on an adventure that would end in her heart being split in two.

 

She didn't know why she wasn't getting older. Maybe it was a curse, punishment for her uselessness the one time it had mattered. Maybe the Valar had condemned her to wander the earth, ensuring the peace and happiness of others while forever denying it to her.

 

She no longer cared.

 

It was what it was, just one more thing in a long list of things she had no control over, no chance of changing no matter how hard she tried.

 

There was still no sound from around the tree and Bilba bit back a sigh. She was going to have to look, and without knowing who was there, how many or where exactly they were. Anyone else might have felt fear, or at least worry.

 

Bilba was annoyed.  

 

She took a breath and, as slowly as possible, leaned forward to put one hand, and the sword in it, on the ground. She then lowered herself down, until blades of grass pressed against her chin and she could feel the hard grit of the forest floor pressing against her armor.

 

She braced her feet and moved to lie nearly flat on the ground, until she could peer around the edge of the trunk.

 

There were no fewer than seven figures in the clearing, seated upon coal black horses, so utterly still they might as well have been carved from stone. From what she could tell, they were Men, but that was as far as it went, for they wore heavy cloaks that covered them head to toe, leaving little more than black shadows where their faces should have been.  

 

Their hands, where they gripped the reins, were covered by armor and a dark aura seemed to surround them, to the point Bilba could swear the light itself fled from them.  

 

Not people she wanted to meet then.

 

One of them, a few feet ahead of the others, lifted its head and... appeared to be sniffing?

 

Bilba tensed and, as carefully as before, pulled back behind the tree again. She eased into a crouch and turned, intending to make her escape as quickly and quietly as possible.

 

That was her plan anyway, and it might even have worked if she hadn't turned to find two more black clad figures, mounted on horses right behind her.

 

For several seconds, Bilba simply stared at them in disbelief. There was no way, simply no way they could have snuck up on her, not on _horses_ for Yavanna's sake. So how --

 

 _"Shire,"_ The word was hissed out, like a snake given voice, issuing from the cowl of the creature nearest her. And it was a creature, of that she was becoming more and more convinced with every passing second. _"Baggins."_

Cold raced through her and, for the first time in a long time, genuine dread and fear seized her heart.

 

They were looking for her. They hadn't just stumbled upon her, hadn't just happened to show up in the same clearing she was in. They had been specifically _looking_ for her and, somehow, someway, against all odds, they had found her.

 

She ran.

 

There was no fighting them, didn't even have to question it. They were mounted, and armored, and there were _nine_ of the damn things.

 

So she ran, bursting through the small gap between the two horses and out the far side. She knew it was futile, that she was delaying the inevitable, but still she tried and, really, what did that say about her? So reckless, so quick to throw herself into danger and yet, when faced with certain death, what did she do? She tried to avoid it.

 

Maybe it was because she knew it was what _he_ would have wanted, had he still been around to want anything.

 

Maybe it was because, in the end, she was afraid of facing him in the afterlife, afraid of hearing him blame her for letting him march into the arms of death when she'd had the means of saving him and had failed to use it.

 

Or maybe, in the end, she was simply afraid.

 

A heavy blow hit her in the back, followed immediately by a burst of white hot, blinding agony. It scorched through her, froze her limbs and stole her breath away.

 

She hit the ground hard, gasping uselessly as the pain blistered along her nerves, causing the muscles in her back to spasm and cramp. Her fingers dug into the dirt, and she almost threw up from the pain she felt deep inside her back, burning, tearing. Something scraped against her spine and she let out a gasp.

 

_It happened so easily, so quick that, for a second, she didn't register what happened. Who knew a sword could pass so easily through a person's body?_

_Almost without any effort at all._

_His eyes had widened, and he'd let out a gasp she'd heard all the way from where she'd been standing, watching in horror. That was all. Not a scream, or a cry of pain. Just a single, quiet...gasp._

_She'd wondered later why. Why just a gasp?_

_Why hadn't he screamed?_

Now she knew.

It was because the pain was so intense it stole your breath away.

Blades of grass brushed against her mouth and face as she struggled to drag air into what was at least one ruined lung. Her chest felt heavy and liquid was burbling up her throat, threatening to choke her. Each attempt to breathe felt like she was trying to suck air through a narrow tube. A horrible, grating noise sounded in her ear and it took a few seconds to realize it was coming from her.

 

The clank of armor, and then the sword was being yanked out in one, quick motion. Bilba made a strangled noise, black eating at the corners of her vision. Cold ran through her, spreading out from her center until her entire body was shivering, even as she felt sweat prickling on her brow.  

 

The toe of a metal boot slid under her ribs and easily flipped her over, onto her back. Bilba arched, mouth open soundlessly as the injury to her back impacted the ground, dirt and small rocks digging into the torn flesh. She could feel the wetness soaking through the back of her shirt, sliding down into the waistband of her trousers. The creature's weapons had passed through her armor so easily she might as well have not been wearing it.  

 

The sun still shone over her head, burning merrily in a bright blue sky and the rapidly vanishing bits of her consciousness wondered how a day could go from so pleasant to so awful in so short a span of time. How the sun could continue to shine when such atrocities were committed under it.

 

She'd wondered it back then too.

 

Shadows stood over her, darker than her rapidly dimming vision, and she realized the creatures were there, gathered around her. One of them knelt and what felt like ice was suddenly pulling away her cuirass and rummaging in the buttoned pocket of her shirt.

 

The ring, her mind supplied dully. They were after that damn ring.

 

She'd picked it up ages ago, back before everything had fallen apart. She had no idea why she'd kept it all these years, why she was so careful to always carry it on her person. She'd never put it on after that first time, could barely stomach looking at it when, every time she did, it seemed to condemn her for not using it when it had really mattered.

 

She'd forgotten it was there, never even considered using it to try and escape.

 

That was fitting, she supposed. It didn't seem right to use it to save her own life when she'd failed to use it to save his.

 

The creatures were standing up again.

 

She didn't hurt anymore.

 

Her body felt heavy, so incredibly heavy, and she was just so tired. She lacked the energy, or even the desire, to move.

 

As if from a far-off place, Bilba watched as one of creatures drew a sword from somewhere under its cloak.

 

Unnecessary, her mind whispered. It would probably take longer for them to stab her again than it would for her to simply die from the first attack.

 

At least she'd get to see him again, finally.

 

Would he condemn her?

 

Welcome her?

 

Would he even care? They'd spent so much time together but, in the end, it had been so small a piece of the longer tapestry that had comprised his life, or hers for that matter. He stood large in her mind, occupying her happiest memories, and most bitter regrets, but had it been the same for him?

 

With the last of her vision, she saw the creature raise the sword over its head. A strange peace flowed through her. It had been so long. So long she'd carried this weight. It would be nice to put it down. To go where she ultimately belonged. Where so many had gone on ahead of her. Her mother, her father, friends and relatives....

 

_Him._

For better or worse, if he accepted her or rejected her, she would see him once more, watch his eyes light up when he smiled, see the way he rolled his eyes at his brother's antics, rejoice in the way his presence lit up an entire room when he entered.

 

She'd been on her own long enough.

 

Her eyes slid closed --

 

 

 

And opened again in Bag End.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Later, Bilba wouldn't be able to say just how long she simply...stayed there, lying on her back, staring at the roof over her head.

She knew it was long enough to watch the shadows lift, for the first rays of sun to creep over the sill of the open window, for the crickets outside to fall silent as night gave way to day.

She didn't stay out of any confusion about where she was. It might have been decades since she'd last seen her home, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten it.

On particularly miserable days in the wild she could, with relative ease, conjure memories of every beam and floorboard. She'd trace them in her mind just as her eyes tracked them now, would fantasize about the press of an overstuffed mattress instead of the hardpacked earth, pretend her stomach was filled with delicious food from her larder instead of whatever, often meager, rations she'd managed to procure for that day.   

No, it certainly wasn't confusion about where she was that kept her trapped in place for so long.  

Rather, it was more surprise that the afterlife would resemble Bag End.

The chatter of distant voices caught her attention from outside her open window and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her heart gave a small jolt and adrenaline raced through her as the voices seemed to grow louder, closer, before fading again until they ultimately vanished entirely.

Still, they had managed to snap her out of her trance. Bilba pressed her hands, palms down, into the mattress beneath her and slowly began to push up into a seated position.

An area on her back protested, sharp pain radiating out from a central point, and she stopped mid-motion with a hiss of pain.

Wait...pain?

She might not know much about the afterlife, but it was generally accepted across all races that death afforded one a relative lack of pain, didn't it?

She pushed her blankets away from her legs and shivered as the cool air of the morning made its presence felt. She was dressed in what had once been her favorite nightgown; light yellow and long sleeved, it fell all the way to her feet in heavy cotton folds. It had originally belonged to her mother and, after her loss, Bilba had worn it to feel closer to her.

Speaking of which, butterflies started to act up in her stomach and Bilba took a deep breath to try and calm them. A smile, a mix of half nerves and half unbridled happiness pushed at her lips without her permission and she let out a second breath, fingers digging into the fabric of her gown where it draped across her legs.

"Mother?"

There was no answer so Bilba slid out of bed, only to grimace as her back once again protested. It wasn't as bad, however, the sharpness fading to a deep soreness, so she set it aside in favor of more important things.

"Mother?" She padded out of her room into the darkened hallway, toes curling instinctively as they transferred from the thick rug in her bedroom to cold floorboards. "Father?"

Silence was her only answer.

Her smile faded a bit, and she headed toward the room at the far end of the hall. After her parents had died, she'd shut the door and never opened it again. Not even when she'd left the first time, not knowing if she'd ever come back, or when she'd left the second time, when she knew she'd never be coming back.

Now she faced a flood of trepidation mixed with nervous anticipation as she closed her fingers around the doorknob, iron icy against her skin.

With a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies still dancing in her stomach, she pushed the door open. "Mother? Fath--"

The room was empty. Faint light shone dully through thick curtains and the smell of dust and age hung heavy in the air.

They weren't there and hadn't been for a very long time.

For the first time, a pulse of very real panic ran through Bilba.

With a frown, she spun on one heel and went to the nearest bedroom door. Perhaps they simply hadn't liked the room and had decided --

The second room was equally as empty, and clearly unlived in, as was the third and fourth. By then, Bilba was moving faster, throwing open doors and calling out for her parents with increasing urgency.

They had to be there. She wouldn't have been put into an afterlife without them. It'd just be too cruel, and it'd mean -- it'd mean --

She flew toward the front door and wrenched it open, barely reacting as rays from the still rising sun struck her in the eyes. She threw an arm up, shielding her vision as it adjusted, and darted outside.

"Mother? Father!"

The garden was empty, as was the small bench in the back of the house that overlooked the party field. Bilba darted around front again, taking the cobblestone steps two at a time down toward the picket fence that closed off Bag End from the rest of Hobbiton and its populace.

She managed to catch her foot against the final step and tripped, falling forward to land on her hands and knees, almost crashing into the gate as she did. Pain rippled through her hands, knee and stubbed toe and she bit her lip as tears threatened.

"Bilba?" a vaguely familiar voice asked suddenly from the other side of the gate. "Bilba Baggins, what on earth?"

Bilba raised her head. Her hair which, for some reason, had returned to the impractical, near waist length style she hadn't worn in decades had cascaded in auburn waves and curls about her face when she'd fallen, blocking a clear view of the person who'd spoken.

Bilba stood up slowly, favoring her stubbed toe, and shakily pulled her hair back from her face.

A hobbit woman dressed for market with a basket on her arm was standing on the other side of her fence, staring at her agape. She was older, about her parents’ age perhaps, and, oh, Bilba knew she should know her. She should, and it made sense because she'd lived so much longer than she should have so there should be people she knew...everyone she knew in fact and if she could just place the name --

"Bilba?" the woman repeated, opening the gate and stepping forward. "Sweetheart, are you quite all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Aunt Linda," Bilba whispered, the name suddenly clicking into place, along with a faint memory of a woman who'd used to visit her mother for tea, the two of them chatting for hours while Bilba had played quietly in another room. The visits had stopped after her mother's death, as Bilba hadn't inherited her mother's hosting skills. Her mother could sit and chat forever about everything and nothing all at once, taking on any topic and happily following it through to the bitter end wherever that may be. Bilba had tried, she really had, but every attempt had ended in awkward silences and the overloud clink of teacups against china until, finally, she'd given up on trying.

Now she stepped forward to grab her aunt's arm. "Aunt Linda, have you seen my parents?"

Linda's eyes widened. "I'm sorry?"

"My parents," Bilba insisted. "I can't seem to find them. Did they go to the market?"

She spun away before the other woman could answer and started down the street toward the marketplace. Her parents had always loved going there in the mornings, how could she have forgotten? They must have left, and she'd arrived after they'd already gone and if she just headed down there --

"Bilba!" she could hear Linda calling from behind her, but ignored her, increasing her footsteps instead. It was still early, but everyone know that was when the best fruits and meats were available, so several other hobbits were already on the road. They gave her strange looks as she passed but she ignored them too.

It was just that it had been so long, most of them probably didn't even remember her.

"Bilba Baggins, stop!"

She froze without thinking, heart jolting in her chest at the command. Her mother -- that had been her mother's voice, hadn't it? She hadn't heard her in years but there was no mistaking --

Hope welled, and she turned with a smile, only for her heart to fall as Linda was there, basket dropped in the dirt behind her and hat halfway blown off from having chased after her.

The other woman grabbed her arm, grip gentle but firm. "Bilba," she said quietly. "Let's get you back home, all right?"

Bilba shook her head. "But my parents--

"They aren't here, sweetheart," Linda cut in gently. "You've just had a bad dream is all, you're confused."

"No," Bilba shook her head, heart dropping like a stone at the other woman's words. "No -- I --" she shook her head again. "I _was_ having a bad dream, but it's all over now. I woke up. This is--" she gestured helplessly around her. "This is supposed to be me waking up."

Her voice ended on a whisper and she was horrified as her vision began to water.

Linda gave her the sort of look that had been one of the reasons Bilba had left the Shire, glared at several hobbits poorly pretending to not be watching, and then wrapped an arm around Bilba's shoulders. "Why don't we get you back to Bag End?"

In other words, how about you stop standing about in your nightgown with your hair in shambles embarrassing yourself, Bilba thought. The girl she'd used to be would have been horrified at the spectacle.

The woman she'd become didn't care.

"My parents," she insisted, ducking out from under Linda's arm. "Where are they?"

Linda sighed, and pursed her lips before reaching out to take Bilba's hands in her own. "They're dead, my dear," she said softly. "They died several years ago, remember?"

"I know that," Bilba said in irritation, jerking her hands free. "I want to know--"

She stopped suddenly as the other woman's words fully registered. "Wait, did you say they're dead?"

Linda nodded slowly. "Yes, from an illness. They went together."

"No," Bilba wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling the cold of the morning air. The gown she was wearing was thin, not intended for running about outside. "No," she repeated, closing her eyes for a second as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I know that. I mean --" she gestured around them. "We all are, right?"

Linda looked confused. "We're all what, dear?"

"Dead!" Bilba shouted, losing her patience. A hobbit couple passing by stumbled to a stop and stared at them both in shock, but she didn't care. "We're all dead! This is--" she gestured yet again, helplessly. "This is what comes after and my...my parents should be here."

Her parents.

Grandparents.

A handful of other relatives she'd lost over the years.

A friend lost during a storm when she'd been just a child and never found.

Thorin, with all his stubbornness and pride, and a lifetime of pain she'd never recognized until after his loss when she'd seen it in a mirror.

Kili, young and brash, filled with a zest for life, so unnaturally still and quiet in death that she'd almost believed it wasn't him lying on that slab at all but a doppelganger or someone's sick idea of a joke.

And _him_ , the one she couldn't bear to think about because every memory was razor edged, capable of slicing open veins and flooding her with grief and guilt so intense it left her breathless.

Linda blinked in surprise, eyes wide and mouth forming a wide O of shock. "Dead? No, sweetheart, no. You're not dead, and neither am I. It was just a bad dream." She patted Bilba's hand as she spoke, patronizing, and Bilba felt herself bristle. She was _decades_ older than this woman, she was no child to be talked down to. "You're safe in the Shire. No one is dead."

Sweetheart.

Dear.

Names her parents had called her, and others. Linda meant them to be comforting, but each one sliced at her like a blade. It had been so long since she'd allowed words to hurt her, and now it was like everything was broken glass and she had no choice but to crawl through it.

Linda had taken hold of her arms again and, this time, Bilba allowed it. Her head was pounding with the promise of a headache, and her throat had begun to burn as she struggled to hold back tears of...she didn't even fully know what. Sadness? Despair? Anger?

Maybe all of them at once, and more.

As Linda led her back up the path, Bilba studied the landscape around her. The familiar dirt path leading toward the market behind her. Hobbits, many of whom she recognized, wandering past or stepping outside their homes to greet the morning. Overhead, the sun slowly rose in a bright, blue sky while puffy clouds floated past in a lazy breeze.

Her eyes turned down toward her own body, well fed and clearly used to a life of leisure. Her hands were smooth instead of calloused from holding a sword, her fingernails short and manicured rather than broken and jagged. Her hair, as she'd already noticed, was long once more and she could no longer feel the ever present, faint gnawing of hunger in her stomach. She was young again, could feel it in her bones and body. She might not have been aging like she should, but she had been changing, nonetheless. New injuries picked up along the way, tasks that had once been simple slowly growing more difficult as the years had passed by.  

All that was gone now. She pushed her sleeves back and the scar she'd picked up from a lucky orc strike ten years earlier was gone, as was the stiffness from the kneecap she'd once shattered after being thrown from a pony

It was like she was new again, exactly as she would expect after waking up from death...and yet.

She felt pain, from tripping, from that spot on her back, from the pounding in her temples. She felt the cold of the air and heard the whispers of the mean-spirited as they rushed past, on their way to tell their friends about how Bilba Baggins had finally lost her mind.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

Linda put an arm around her again. "It's all right," she said, consoling. She tugged on her lightly. "Let's just go back to Bag End, shall we? I'll make you a nice cup of tea."

Bilba shook her head, going over the last things she remembered in her mind over, and over again.  

She'd been in the woods.

She'd been attacked.

She'd been fatally stabbed.

The...things that had attacked her had been after the ring she'd picked up on the journey to Erebor. A ring that let her turn invisible.

A ring that could have saved everyone, had she simply the courage and training to use it when it mattered.

Regardless, the stab wound had been fatal. She knew it had. Even if, by some miracle, it hadn't there was no way to explain her waking up, uninjured, in Bag End, surrounded by people who should be long dead but somehow weren't, while possessing a version of her body she hadn't had in decades.

Not since --

She slowed, mind truly taking in the weather for the first time, automatically noting it felt like an early spring day, the flowers just starting to bloom while the barest hint of frost still clung to the morning air.

Her eyes fell on the bench next to her mailbox, where she'd used to sit and watch the day pass her by.

"Oh no," she whispered. Ice ran through her and she staggered, grabbing the posts of her front gate and holding them until the edges bit into her hands. "Oh, please no."

"Bilba?" Linda stopped and looked at her in concern. "What's wrong?"

"What's the date?" Bilba asked, nausea beginning to roil in her gut. "Aunt Linda, what day is it?"

"What day?" her aunt asked in confusion. "It's 25 Astron, Bilba."

Bilba's heart jolted in her chest and she closed her eyes. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she sagged, the gate almost entirely taking on her weight. Linda grabbed her, trying to help support her.

"And the year?" Bilba asked desperately, even though she already knew the answer, the only answer it could be.

"1341," came the response, and Bilba's legs buckled beneath her.

She hit the ground hard and gagged as bile flooded her mouth. Her fingers dug into the dirt, grit and sand slicing into her skin, and she let out an almost unearthly sound that was somewhere between a sob and a wail. Pain deeper than anything she'd ever endured physically sliced through her heart and she let out a short gasp at the sheer depth of it.  

"Bilba," Linda had dropped to her knees in front of her and was holding Bilba by the shoulders. "Bilba, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I'm being punished," Bilba managed to get out through gritted teeth. She dug her fingers harder into the dirt, focusing on the physical pain in a desperate attempt to drive back the emotional pain.

"Nonsense," Linda said firmly. "Whatever could you possibly mean? You're a perfectly respectable hobbit. You haven't done anything worthy of punishment."

"You're wrong," Bilba whispered. Memories welled up inside her, and all too familiar waves of soul crushing guilt followed.

There was no other explanation. As insane as it sounded, and it did sound insane, she wasn't dead. She wasn't dead but was instead back in time. Back to _then,_ the day when she'd set off on a path that would ultimately destroy the girl she'd been, and irreparably shatter her heart into a million pieces.

"What would you call it then?" she asked bitterly. "What would you call it if you had made a mistake, the biggest one of your entire life, and you suddenly found yourself about to relive it?" She lifted her head and locked eyes with her aunt. "What is it then, if not a punishment for having made the mistake to begin with?"

Linda blinked in surprise. She still looked confused, and probably thought Bilba had quite spectacularly lost her mind but, to her credit, she didn't get up and run. Instead, she tightened her grip on Bilba's shoulders and gave what she probably hoped was a comforting smile. "I don't know what you're going through," she said gently, "or what it is you think you've done but, for me, if I'd made a mistake, and found myself about to do the same thing again, I wouldn't call it a punishment at all."

"Then what would you call it?" Bilba whispered, tone almost pleading. "What else could it possibly be?"

"Why a way to do it all over again of course," Linda said gently, "and get it right. That isn't a punishment at all. It's a gift. The gift of a second chance."


	3. Chapter 3

Bilba sat on the bench at the foot of Bag End's stairs, untouched cup of tea slowly cooling beside her.

She didn't even like tea, had simply drunk it because that was what one did in the Shire. They were respectable, they always said and did the proper thing and, for some reason she'd never thought to question, they drank tea.

A young male hobbit wandered by, moving so far to the other side of the lane from her that he risked falling off and rolling all the way down the hillside.

His eyes darted toward her as he passed and Bilba idly stared back at him until he flinched and increased his speed, hurrying out of sight.

Clearly word of her early morning antics had spread. She'd forgotten that, how fast news could move in the Shire, particularly news of any infraction against propriety and respectability. All of Hobbiton probably knew by now; by this evening she imagined the news would have reached Buckland.

Who knows, perhaps her visitors that evening would arrive, hear her name and promptly turn on their collective heels and march back out again.

Visitors.

The slight hint of a smile playing about the edges of her lips faded, and her eyes returned to their blank, fixed look, staring out at nothing and everything all at once.

After her little breakdown something had...shut down inside her. It wasn't a new sensation. It had built up over time, starting after that awful day on Ravenhill and had gotten stronger over time. Gandalf had claimed it wasn't healthy, but she had welcomed it and sought to strengthen it over the years, a shield and bastion against memories that refused to stay buried.

It had wavered that morning, but she had it back now.

Mostly.

After her collapse at the gate, Aunt Linda had helped her inside and brewed a cup of tea while Bilba had sat motionless in her chair and stared at her kitchen. It had been filled with neatly placed containers for utensils, a bright copper teapot, and other knickknacks and assorted sundries.

She hadn't recognized any of it and vaguely wondered if it had mattered to her at one time.

Probably.

That foolish, foolish girl she'd once been. So concerned with propriety that she'd isolated herself for fear of making a misstep. So naively convinced an adventure was little more than a long walk that she'd run out her door in a dress and her greatest concern later had been that she'd forgotten to bring an extra handkerchief.

Aunt Linda had wanted to stay and talk but Bilba had politely ushered her out, insisting she was fine, and that Linda had been right, it had all been just a bad dream.

One she was about to be forced to relive all over again

What other choice did she have? She could stay home if she wished, lock the door and hide in her room when Gandalf came shambling through the Shire. Perhaps he'd pick someone else, and that person would fare better than she did.

Perhaps not.

In any event, that cold day on Ravenhill would come whether she was present or not. The thought of watching the day creep ever closer while all she could do was sit in her chair and watch the shadows lengthen -- she would lose her mind. There was no question about it and, thus, there was no question that she had to go.

Even if going might well lead to her losing her mind anyway.

_"It's a gift. The gift of a second chance."_

She snorted and idly studied her hands where they lay in her lap. The calluses from holding swords were gone, as were the muscles that had defined her arms. She doubted she could hold a blade for very long anymore, much less efficiently wield one. Even if she started training her body immediately, it would still take weeks to get anywhere near the shape she'd once been in, and that would be using new weapons she wasn't used to.

She'd be starting this thing all over again with no more experience or training than she'd had the first time, and with no guarantee she could change the outcome. Any change, even the smallest, could lead to ripple effects that might make things better, or incomparably worse. She could wind up getting more people killed, by the trolls, the goblins, the orcs or even an unforeseen threat they'd missed the first time but wouldn't the second because she'd led them right into it.

And all the while, she'd have to deal with _him_.

Her thoughts skittered away from that particular idea, just as they had been doing all morning. She could barely wrap her mind around what had happened as it was. Trying to understand that he was even then alive, _alive_ somewhere in the world and she'd be face to face with him in mere hours.

And he'd have no idea who she even was.

Her heart started to race inside her chest and her breathing grew short. A chill ran through her and she clenched her jaw, digging her fingers into her legs and shutting her eyes.

Damn it all.

For a brief second, it was all just...too much.

Just too much.

She dug her fingers into her palms until it hurt and forced herself to breathe deeply. It'd be fine, she told herself firmly. Absolutely fine.

She hadn't seen him in a century, for Yavanna's sake. He might well be a stranger to _her_ , in the end. Time had a tendency to smooth out the rough edges of an already faded memory, burying the bad while magnifying the good. The person who'd lived so vibrantly inside her head for eighty years could end up being radically different from the one she'd seen day in and day out for barely a year.

And all that was before she took into consideration the fact that _she_ was so radically different. Older, in mind if no longer in body, more mature, hopefully a bit wiser. Would the person she'd become have the same interests as her younger self? She'd never loved another person, never so much as had the inclination, so she honestly couldn't say if the qualities that had originally attracted her to him still would.

She could end up opening the door to a stranger and, in a way, lose him all over again.  

Her stomach twisted viciously, and she opened her eyes again with a sharp gasp. Quickly she pushed off the bench and ran her hands anxiously down the fabric of the bright green and gold dress she'd put on. It wasn't any of the pitiful few she'd taken the first time, and it certainly wasn't _that_ one. The one she'd worn when her life had fallen to pieces at her feet.

She'd found it, though, in her wardrobe, along with the others.

 

She'd burned every last one of them.

 

The air was still cold in spite of the sun being firmly up so Bilba went back up the stairs to get a wrap. Once she had it, she started to head back out, only to stumble to a stop at her doorway. There was far too much time left and sitting on that bench did nothing but make her think.

Instead she retreated to the study she still thought of as her father's and opened the safe he'd built into the wall behind a framed picture of a garden scene. Inside, she grabbed the documents she wanted, retrieved a small pouch of coins, and shoved them into a pocket of her dress.

She'd come up with this idea earlier, and there was no real reason for her to wait to put it into motion.

She headed out, down the lane toward the homes on the lower levels of the hill. One thing at a time. Just one thing at a time and just...don't think about the rest. Not yet. Not until she had no other choice.

She pushed open the small gate at the entrance to one of the homes and made her way to the front door. She knocked, ignoring the way her stomach was churning inside her, stepped back, and waited.

She wasn't entirely sure if she wanted the occupants of this particular place to be home or not. Not would mean she'd have to go find them but, if they were home, it'd mean she'd have to deal --

The door opened to reveal a sour-looking woman, and Bilba plastered a false smile on her face. "Good morning, Lobelia."

If possible, the woman's expression soured further. "Bilba. I see doing your hair or putting on a hat was too much of a bother for you."

Bilba shrugged. She'd coiled her hair and pinned it at the base of her head, which was all the effort she cared to put into it. "You're not wrong."

Lobelia looked mildly startled for a second before making an irritated sound and crossing her arms. Despite how early it was, she was already fully dressed in an elaborate gown, complete with underskirt and apron. Her hair was also curled, and she had a small hat pinned to it. Bilba recalled always vaguely suspecting the hat was simply a part of her body and, thus, unremovable.

"I need a favor," she continued, when it was apparent Lobelia wasn't going to say anything else. Apparently, basic pleasantries did not extend to distant relations...who lived right up the lane.

One of Lobelia's eyebrows slowly arched. "You must be joking."

"I wish I was," Bilba said with a grimace. She literally could not put into words how much she wished she was joking. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Will you now?" Lobelia stepped forward and straightened. Her full height was about the same as Bilba's, so it didn't accomplish much but she applauded the effort. "I question what you could possibly have to offer that would entice me to do you a _favor_."

She made the word sound like a curse, but Bilba's only reply was to pull the document out of her pocket and hold it up. "How about the deed to Bag End? Is that enticing enough?"

Lobelia gaped at her, mouth literally dropping open. "I beg your pardon?"

Bilba raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware I'd misspoken."

Mentally, she could almost see Dain rolling his eyes at her. Living in the wild had left her with little patience for basic pleasantries or social necessities. This was particularly true whenever Dain, who'd decided he had some bizarre responsibility for her, sent out a team to track her down and drag her to Erebor to ensure she still had all her body parts and wasn't currently starving to death.

She'd managed to avoid his irritating check-ins for years until he'd resorted to underhanded tactics and started sending Dwalin. Seeing Dwalin had always been a double-edged sword; a welcome bit of nostalgia for things long lost, and an unwelcome reminder of what once was.

She was pretty sure it was the same for him.

Lobelia had been glowering at her, probably waiting for Bilba to waste her breath repeating what the other woman had clearly already heard. When it became obvious Bilba had no intention of playing along, she huffed and said, "What, exactly, are you wanting?"

"A feast," Bilba said shortly. "Enough to feed thirteen dwarves and one human."

Lobelia blinked, startled. "You don't ask for a lot, do you?"

"I'm offering a lot," Bilba replied. She reached into her pocket again and pulled out the small pouch, bouncing it on one hand until the coins inside jingled. "This should be more than enough to cover any supplies you could possibly need. You can ask anyone you want for help, I don't care, so long as it's ready by six."

Lobelia's eyes narrowed. "And, in return, I get Bag End? Just like that? You'll pardon me if I think it sounds a little too good to be true. Why don't you do it yourself?"

"I've lost the taste for cooking," Bilba shrugged. "As for the rest; it's just a house, Lobelia."

Lobelia didn't look convinced, and Bilba couldn't blame her. There had been a time when she'd felt the same way as the other woman, convinced an empty place made of wood and brick somehow mattered in the grand scheme of things.

In the years since, she'd learned otherwise. She could squat in that cold, empty place her entire life, ensure it went to who she wished out of some righteous belief of who was worthy or not and, in the end, for what? So someone else she hadn't chosen could eventually come in? So the floors her father had laid down could be torn up and replaced as they wore to splinters, the walls repainted and the house changed until she no longer recognized it? So that one day, in the name of progress, the ancient home on the hill that hadn't been lived in for years could be torn down altogether?

It just...didn't matter. The thing that had mattered about Bag End hadn't been the home itself, it had been the people, and they were long gone. It had been the memories, and those she carried with her for better or worse.

Lobelia, she knew, wanted the house for an entirely different reason. She thought it would raise her stature in the Shire, and perhaps she was right, not that it had helped Bilba. She hadn't had more friends or visitors because of where she lived and, in the end, could they really be counted as friends? Is that what mattered? Not people who genuinely cared, but simply those whose only interest lay in the house she inhabited?

"I'll be out in the morning," she continued. "I'll be taking a small pack with me and some money, the rest is yours. I'll leave the deed in the mailbox, along with a letter explaining that I've handed the house over to you." She frowned, considering for a second, and then added, "I hope it brings you happiness, Lobelia."

She started to turn and leave, only to stop as the other woman caught her sleeve. When she looked back, it was to see a look in Lobelia's eyes that could almost be described as concern.

"Are you all right?" the other woman asked, voice gruff. "I heard about your -- incident this morning."

Bilba raised an eyebrow, surprised the woman had even been willing to speak to her if that was the case. The last thing Lobelia had ever wanted was to appear improper and Bilba's little meltdown had been anything but proper.

"I'm fine, she said flatly. "Just had a bad dream."

"And now you're giving away Bag End?" Lobelia asked. "Where are you planning to go?"

"Somewhere that isn't here," Bilba said simply, ignoring the woman's attempts to pry. "I think it's time for a change is all."

"Good for you," Lobelia said with a curt nod.

Bilba frowned, running the words through her mind, and then turned all the way back to face the other woman. "What?"

Lobelia huffed and looked to the side, glaring at a passing hobbit until the other girl flushed bright red, stopped shuffling in an attempt to overhear them, and hurried on past. "You've been closed up alone in that place for far too long. Your parents didn't leave it to you, so you could become a shut-in."

Bilba's eyes widened slightly and she studied the other woman. Her first time through, when she'd been younger in body and mind, she'd had little respect for the other woman. Lobelia was abrasive and overly obsessed with public opinion. She used her words like weapons to cut down those she saw as being beneath her and coveted what she didn't have to the point of growing embittered over having what she wanted denied her.

But she was also a loyal and faithful wife to Otho, and no one could question that she doted on Lotho. There was never any rumor about her having a wandering eye and Otho was clearly content with his wife, for he never spoke a disparaging word against her.

As for the rest, Lobelia certainly made her own choices and faced the consequences, but, even so, Bilba's own actions had done nothing to help mitigate the rift with her relations. How often had she lamented having to clean so many unused rooms and spaces, or felt the crush of silence when waking up in the middle of the night? She'd had no real reason to stay there after her parents had died and, if she were completely honest, would probably have been happier in a smaller, easier to manage home.

Added to that was the fact she had little care or concern for what others thought of her, or for socializing, while it meant a great deal to Lobelia and... truly, her past self didn't come out looking all that much better did she? Even the fact that, when she'd left the first time she'd given the house to Primula and her husband knowing full well how much Lobelia wanted it -- it had been spiteful, even if she hadn't thought so at the time.

"Better late than never," she said now, forcing a slight smile. "I think it will be good for me, getting out of there." She gave a mock salute with the deed. "Thank you, Lobelia. I really appreciate it."

"You can thank me with the deed," Lobelia muttered. She scowled. "I better get started. It'll be tight enough as is. I'll use my own kitchen, I think. I won't have time to learn a new one." She started to turn, only to catch herself and hold her hand out.

Amused, Bilba handed over the pouch of coins she'd brought along. "That should be more than enough but, if not, let me know."

Lobelia grumbled and vanished back inside her house, shutting the door behind her. Bilba chuckled and shook her head before heading back to the lane.

She paused on the dirt outside Lobelia's front gate, trying to decide what she should do next. She didn't have enough time to do most of what she needed to get done but had too much time to want to return to sitting on her front bench.

A group of giggling tween girls rushed past toward the market and Bilba's eyes were drawn to their hair, elaborately styled and decorated, falling about their shoulders and down their back. Absently, she put her hand up to the mass of hair she'd haphazardly pinned back to get it out of her face and eyes.

There were probably one or two things she had time to do after all.

***

Bilba sat on her bench again, lounging this time with her hands in her lap. No one was coming anywhere near her now, not since she'd come out of her front door sporting her new look.

Her kitchen knives hadn't proven as sharp or honed as the ones she'd carried in the wild, and the blade didn't cut so much as it'd yanked her hair out by the roots. The result was admittedly shoddy and uneven as the pain and general annoyance had caused her to give up well before she probably should have. Still, she'd gotten the bulk of the useless mass and wouldn't have to worry about it getting in the way of any potential fights.

After that she'd steeled herself and gone back to her parents’ room where she'd found an old pair of her father's trousers and an oversized shirt. She'd altered them quickly and, though they didn't fit perfectly, they were also good enough. She'd get better clothes, as well as armor and weapons, in Bree but, for now, these would do.

_"When I saw you for the first time, the only thing I could think about was how beautiful you were."_

Her eyes widened and Bilba sucked in a harsh breath as the words floated across her mind. She let out a breath and clenched her teeth, fingers digging into her legs through the fabric of her trousers.

She hadn't thought of _that_ in years. Her eyes burned but she forced herself to breathe deeply and fought it back.

He certainly wouldn't be thinking that when he saw her this time.

Before she had a chance to follow that thought any further, the scrape of a foot coming up the path caught her attention. A sense of impending doom settled in her gut, and she resisted the urge to either pull a weapon that she didn't have or run into Bag End and slam the door shut behind her.

Instead she took another deep breath, straightened and lifted her chin as if preparing to go into battle.

A shadow fell over her and she shut her eyes briefly and let her breath out. A sense of false calm fell over her and she opened her eyes again, fixing them out over the Shire where other hobbits lived with no more concern for the day than what they were going to have for breakfast.

"Hello, Gandalf."


	4. Chapter 4

_It was a beautiful spring day. Bilba woke up early and took her time getting ready. She chose her favorite dress, a dark red one with a gold design that had once belonged to her mother. She'd always been enamored with it, a bright splash of color that stood out against the more neutral tones that most in the Shire tended to wear._

_After her mother's death, it had been the only dress of hers that Bilba had been able to bear seeing. It was the dress she always saw her mother wearing in her memories and having it on made her feel closer to the other woman._

_The sound of birds chirping outside her window beckoned so she quickly fixed her hair, made herself a cup of tea and headed outside with one of her favorite books. The action was aborted when she realized how cool it still was, so she returned to grab a shawl before trying again._

_Once finally outside, she sat on the bench at the foot of her walkway and settled back to watch the day start. The silence was peaceful, broken only by birdsong, the rustle of leaves and the faint sounds of her fellow hobbits readying themselves for the day._

_She took a sip of her tea, hiding a grimace at the taste, then set it down in favor of her book. She kept half her attention on it, and half on her surroundings so she could greet those who passed by._

_At one point, her Aunt Linda wandered past and she set her book down to exchange a few pleasantries with the other woman. Aunt Linda invited her to go to the market with her, but Bilba politely turned her down._

_Instead, she returned to her book, idly swinging her legs as she read. She should really invest in a swing. How amazing would that be, getting to sink amongst the cushions and gently swing back and forth whilst reading about grand adventures in far off lands?_

_Oh, yes, she was definitely seeing about getting a swing, just as soon as she was finished with this chapter._

_So engrossed was she in her book, and dreams about her swing, that she utterly failed to notice the large shadow that had fallen over her until an amused sound came from right beside her._

_She jumped in surprise and looked up, and up, to see an elderly man in a gray robe, holding a walking stick standing beside her bench. For some reason, he looked vaguely familiar though she couldn't imagine where she'd have ever seen him before._

_No matter, though, for he was clearly here now, and she was being ever so rude to simply stare at him like he was some sort of oddity._

_Bilba smiled up at the old man. The sun was warm, the grass was green and when she spoke it was with all the innocence and cheer that seemed to draw other races to want to protect and watch over the Shire and its inhabitants._

_"Good morning!"_

***

"Hello, Gandalf."

Instead of answering, Gandalf sank down on the bench beside her, settled his staff between his knees, and gave a long exhale. As he did, he almost seemed to deflate, sagging into the bench seat and back until it was fully supporting his weight.

For several long minutes the two simply sat, staring out over the Shire. It had been nice when she'd actually been this young, Bilba thought. She'd been able to live as if the Shire was all there was. Like there weren't a host of Rangers, and even elves, spending their own sweat and blood to keep the darkness at bay.

She hadn't trusted them, the Rangers. No hobbit did. They were outsiders, always skulking about through the woods, keeping to themselves and rarely entering the Shire itself.

How much of that, Bilba wondered, was because they knew the distrust they would face? And yet, they hadn't stopped watching over the Shire. They'd kept protecting a people who not only never showed gratitude but were almost openly hostile to them.

"I wondered about you," she said finally, breaking the peace. Peace would always be broken, because peace wasn't the norm. It was an aberration, a brief bubble that was far too fragile to last very long. "I first met you as a child, then a young adult and then later, and you know what I finally realized?" He didn't answer, which was fine. She'd learned not to expect answers, and certainly not from him. "You've always looked exactly as you do now. Never younger, never older. Not a single gray hair or wrinkle more or less than the last time I saw you." For the first time, she turned her head to face him, and found him already looking back. "That's not a body," she said simply, "it's a suit, and one you wear poorly."

"And yet it took you more than a single lifetime to notice," Gandalf said, with some amusement, "so perhaps not so poorly after all."

Bilba made a noise of disgust and looked away from him again.

Gandalf gave a second sigh. "I had hoped to perhaps find you different when I arrived."

"So harsh," Bilba said, dryly. She tilted her head to give him a sidelong look. "You wanted her, and yet you came anyway? Why? Breaking me once wasn't enough for you?"

"I wished to meet her one last time," Gandalf answered, a look of sadness crossing his face. He'd always blamed himself for how she'd ended up, not that she'd ever blamed him in return. She'd been pathetic before, unable to even ride a horse correctly, much less defend herself. She'd needed to grow up, and grow up she had, painful as it had been. "And then I would have left her in peace." He seemed like he would continue for a moment, but then simply closed his mouth and stayed silent.

"So harsh," Bilba repeated in a whisper. She could feel the last of her panic washing away as she fell into a familiar pattern with a familiar face. She'd always had a vague idea about Gandalf being more than he liked to pretend he was. He was always so concerned about her failure to age, but completely ignored the fact that _he_ never did either. Eighty years she'd known him, and he had never changed. When she'd woken that morning, she'd had the smallest hope that somehow, someway, he might know what had happened. There was no real logic to it that she could find but, then again, what logic had she been able to find to any of this?

She crossed her arms, and stretched one leg out, glaring in irritation at how thin and undefined said leg was. She doubted she could outrun a squirrel at her current level, let alone an orc or goblin. Or wolf, though she'd never really outrun one of those so much as made it to the nearest tree and waited until the damn thing got bored.

"So now what?" she asked, voice sharp, when it appeared Gandalf wasn't going to speak.

"I don't know," Gandalf said simply.

Bilba's eyes widened, and her heart jolted in her chest. "You don't know?" she asked in surprise. " _You_ don't know?"

"Contrary to popular opinion, it does happen from time to time," the wizard replied, amused. "I've not been given the information and, if that is the case, it simply means I am not meant to know it yet."

Bilba rolled her eyes, "You and your 'it must have been meant' speech." She deepened her voice as she said it, deliberately mocking the grave tone he liked to use when he tried to insist that everything happened for a reason. He, as usual, simply ignored her. "How about you do something different for a change and give it an educated guess? You've been around long enough, you should be able to come up with something."

She was being rude but couldn't particularly bring herself to care. She was about to embark on a journey that could well force her to relive her worst day and she felt the least life could do was tell her _why_.

"I would assume," Gandalf said dryly, "that there is something we are expected to fix, though what it is, I cannot say." He frowned at her, that irritating look of pity in his eyes that she'd never wanted or needed. "I do not know why this day was chosen. While much was lost on this journey--"

"It was still a success," Bilba cut in shortly. "The dragon was killed, Erebor was restored."

People lost the ones they loved every day, for a variety of reasons. There was nothing so very special about her that would warrant resetting a successful quest simply to give her a second chance to get through it without loss.

History recorded the quest, and the resulting Battle of Five Armies, as a victory. Dain had taken the throne and proven an excellent king, just and wise and ruling in Thorin's stead to the best of his ability. No matter how much Bilba might have resented him being the one to sit on the throne, she'd never questioned his right.

"Regardless," Gandalf continued. "I do believe it has something to do with you."

Bilba pulled her leg up on the chair and wrapped her arms around it. "And why is that?"

"Because there are many in the world who may well be aware of what has happened to one extent or another," Gandalf said simply. "You are not one of them."

"Lucky me," Bilba muttered.

Her mind went back to the forest, and she suppressed a shudder. There was a mark on her back, in the exact spot where she'd been stabbed. She'd seen it while getting dressed. It was a small oval, lighter than the surrounding skin, and strangely cool to the touch. She might have thought it was a strange birthmark, save for the fact she'd never had one there before.

Getting stabbed had hurt. Was that how it had felt for him? For all three of them? Thorin had been beyond pain by the time she'd reached him, eyes already going glassy, and breathing shallow.

_"Go back to your books...and your armchair. Plant your trees...watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place."_

She sucked in a harsh breath, and her vision blurred. A stab of pure pain shot through her and she tightened her fingers into her leg.

Mahal, she hadn't thought of _that_ in years, and that was intentional. She didn't _want_ to think of that, or anything that came before it.

 _Damn_ it all, and damn that stupid ring.

She reached up surreptitiously to wipe at her eyes, and then focused on the dirt in front of the bench. "Do you remember that ring I found?" When Gandalf simply looked confused, she added, "The one I found on the quest. You know, in--"

Footsteps shuffled in the dirt as a hobbit she didn't recognize shambled by and she snapped her mouth shut.

That ring.

She didn't know what was so special about it. It had made her invisible a time or two but, aside from that, had simply lain in her pocket most of the time. Gandalf hadn't thought it particularly special, simply cautioning her on using it as "magic of any sort is not something to be used lightly."

It was just a ring.

A ring she'd been hunted down and killed for.

A ring that, even then, should be lying somewhere beneath the Misty Mountains.

But the only person who knew that was her.

And Gandalf.

She frowned. _Someone_ had sent her back, and she doubted it was anyone with a connection to her killers. They'd _won._ They'd done what they set out to do, and then promptly had it undone...by who? The Valar? Eru?

Just what in the world had those creatures who'd attacked her been?

Just what in the world had that _ring_ been?

She frowned, and cast a sidelong look toward Gandalf. They hadn't always seen eye to eye...usually hadn't, if she were being honest, but that didn't change the fact that she'd always respected him. Always understood that he had a level of power she could never attain, even if he rarely showed it for some reason.

Always understood, as she understood now, that she trusted him.

"I need to talk to you," she said shortly, pushing to her feet. "But not here.”

She headed toward her doorway, and heard Gandalf coming behind her. This was going to take a while, she thought sourly as they reached her doorway.

At least she'd have a use for that entire pot of tea Linda had made.

Gandalf actually _liked_ the stuff.

***

"The ring of what?"

"Sauron," Gandalf said shortly, hands tight around the cup Bilba had given him. They were seated on either side of her kitchen table, an indeterminate amount of time after Bilba had told him exactly what had happened before she woke up in Bag End. She'd made sure the windows and doors were all closed before she started, and the silence hung so heavy it had an almost physical weight to it. "The Nazgul hunt the ring, and if they targeted you then--"

"It means I had the ring." Bilba swore quietly and ran her hands through the remnants of her hair. "So, apparently, I was carrying the one ring of Sauron around for a few decades."

"It would appear so," Gandalf said, gravely. "As it would appear my failure concerning you, and Middle Earth as a whole is even greater than I had thought."

"You always were melodramatic," Bilba said with exasperation. She sighed and shoved back in her seat. "So what? I got sent back because they got the ring? I didn't even know Sauron was still around."

"He has been back for quite some time," Gandalf explained, "or had been. Of late he had been gaining strength, enough to send out the Nine in search of his ring. Had it returned to him, all of Middle Earth would have been blanketed in a second darkness."

"And so time itself was reset." Bilba crossed her arms and resisted the urge to throw something. "In an attempt to prevent that from happening. It still doesn't answer the question of why here, and why now? Why not five minutes earlier, or a day? Why not the last time I saw you, or the last time I was in Erebor and surrounded by an army of dwarves?"

"I don't know." Gandalf looked haggard and, for the first time, Bilba thought he looked old. She knew, objectively, that he _was_ old, but he never really looked or acted like it. There was a vitality and power to him that always belied his age, except for right now.

A thought occurred to her and Bilba's stomach knotted inside her. "Is Sauron around now?" she asked, voice quiet. "Or the Nazgul? Do they know what happened?"

If they did, and thought the ring had returned to her possession...

The mark on her back throbbed and what felt like a wave of ice rushed through her. At the same time, the room itself seemed to darken, as if a shadow had passed over the sun.

"Sauron's power was extremely weak during this time when first I encountered him." Gandalf's voice was strong and, as if a spell had been broken, the darkness lifted at the sound of it. Light returned, and Bilba felt muscles that she hadn't known were tense, relax as warmth returned to her body. "The Nine were released from their bindings, but Sauron did not possess the strength needed to give them physical form." The troubled look returned to his face. "As for what he, or those who serve him may know, it is impossible to say."

"Until they come knocking on my door," Bilba said darkly. It was probably for the best she was leaving then, after all. She made a mental note to make it known she was no longer in the Shire, but not where she was going. If she _were_ being hunted, the last thing she wanted was to draw anything here in her absence.

Aside from that, however, the knowledge, and possibility, didn't particularly bother her. The line of Durin, as it turned out, had a lot of enemies. With the main branch gone, and the rest safely within Erebor, those enemies had turned on whoever they could get to satisfy their grudge. More often than not, it had ended up being her.

She'd returned the favor as often as she could, and usually with extreme prejudice. One of the reasons she'd taken to living in the Wild was it so was much harder to find her there. It should be the same again after she left on the quest. She'd be gone, and anyone sent after her would be left scratching their heads.  

She hoped.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"Go on the quest," Gandalf said simply. "Sauron has little power at the moment. If we are very lucky, the quest will go as before but, this time, we will know what we have when we find it. We shall reclaim Erebor, destroy the ring, and end the threat of Sauron once and for all."

"What if I don't want it to go as before?" Bilba asked quietly. "What if I want things to be different?"

Gandalf gave her a troubled look. "We have no idea what things might change if--"

"You're already planning to change things," Bilba said sharply. "The ring wasn't destroyed in the first timeline. It sat in my pocket for eighty years, until I got stabbed in the back so a bunch of bastards in dark cloaks could take it." She leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. "What does it matter, if the end result is the same? If the dragon still dies, Erebor is still reclaimed, and the ring destroyed? You know damn well Thorin would have been a great king, and his nephews deserved to stand beside him."

Her voice had risen as she spoken, until she was almost shouting the last. Through it all, Gandalf simply stared at her with that same look of pity on his face. Bilba wanted to reach across the table and slap it off him.

"You don't have to --" he started to say, but she cut him off before he could continue.

"Don't give me that," she said shortly. "That girl is gone, and she isn't coming back. I'm glad she's gone. She was weak, and pathetic, and people died because of her ineptitude. Thorin was right. You had no business taking her on that quest.." Her voice wavered, and it occurred to her that was the first time she'd spoken Thorin's name, any of their names, out loud in decades. "But what's done is done. You did take her, and now she's gone and I'm here and I'm _damn_ well going the second time. I deserve to go," she continued. "I'm trained," or she would be soon enough, "and I have the experience. I also know where the ring is, and how to get it." She leveled her gaze on him, the one Dwalin had once called terrifying in its intensity. "I'll get the ring back, and I'll make sure things go right this time. Erebor, the dragon, _all_ of it."

There was silence for a long time, and Bilba could almost see the counter arguments running behind Gandalf's eyes. She could almost hear them in her own ears. She also knew she could counter every last one of the, not that it mattered. They could argue until that first knock on the door and, no matter what had been said up to that point, she'd still end up going. Going, but with one major difference. Last time, she'd done things their way. Followed orders, stood back and watched, let others with more experience and knowledge point the way.

Not this time.

This time, she'd be doing it _her_ way.

She'd already decided, and if he knew her at all then he damn well knew it.

Resignation filled his eyes and a tired smile graced his face. When he spoke, Bilba already knew what he was going to say, and wished she could say she felt a sense of triumph instead of an overwhelming sensation of doom.

"So be it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go! I've also got the LSL update in the works, it should be with my beta by this evening! :)

There was little left to be said after that. Gandalf pushed to his feet, stating he had other things to do before returning in time for dinner.

In the past, Bilba might have pressed him on his plans.

Now, she struggled to care.

Gandalf would do as he wished, as he always did, and rarely could he be convinced to share the reasons why.

She remained lounging in her seat as he gathered up his hat and staff, fingers of one hand idly drumming a vaguely familiar beat on the worn wood of her kitchen table.  

Gandalf paused before vanishing through the door and spoke without looking at her. "You may think yourself ready to face him again, but are you really?"

Bilba's fingers paused mid-beat. "The day grows short, Gandalf. You should hurry if you hope to return by evening."

He was silent for a moment longer, and then he was gone, and she was alone with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

That lasted for all of five minutes, right to the point where her mind suddenly registered what song it was she was tapping on the wood. One she'd not heard in a century and might very well hear again before the day was out.

She shoved to her feet, hard enough that the chair tipped over behind her and hit the floor with a loud clatter. She barely noted it, already striding toward the door, eyes barely flickering toward the clock as she passed it.

It'd be close, she decided, and she'd have no time to tarry once there, but she could make it. She retrieved her coin purse and instinctively went to strap on a knife, only to grimace when her hand closed over empty air.

Annoyed, she yanked her front door open, and almost slammed into Lobelia, who was just raising her hand to knock.

"I--" the other woman started to say, only to stop, eyes wide and literally slack-jawed. "What on earth did you do to your hair?" Her eyes roved Bilba's body and, if possible, her jaw fell even farther. "And what are you wearing?"

"Clothes," Bilba said impatiently. "What do you want, Lobelia?"

The woman harrumphed, before finally saying, "It occurred to me that it would be easier to move things in as I prepare them, rather than trying to do them all at once this evening."

The excuse was flimsy, and Bilba had a feeling the other woman knew it. Most of the food wouldn't be finished until that evening and it made no real difference when it was brought over. When she'd been younger, and naive, it was quite possible she'd have simply smiled and accepted it.

"If you wanted to do a walkthrough of Bag End, you could have just said so," she said now, shortly. "Though I question how it is you think you have the time."

That was what it always came down to in the end, wasn't it? The ever-looming press of time, and the burden of never having enough of it.

Lobelia crossed her arms across her chest and looked huffy. "Otho suggested I should have a look at the place before I waste my time, in case it's not...as I remember."

"Otho is going to ensure you don't get it at all," Bilba replied mildly. She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her own arms. "Or is it that you've realized the task is beyond you, and this is simply an attempt to save face? I've never known Otho to be one to lead you about by the nose before, or you as one who would allow it."

Lobelia's face drained of color, before quickly turning red, and then an almost alarming shade of purple. Her hands curled into fists and her mouth worked, though no sound came out.

Bilba arched an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, what was that? If you can't do it, Lobelia, just say so. I"m sure there are many in Hobbiton who'd love a new home and are more than up to the task of preparing one simple meal in exchange for it."

Lobelia made a sound somewhere between a strangled scream and what might possibly have been a curse, before turning on one heel and stomping back down the walkway.

"I'll be heading out a bit," Bilba called after her, "but I'll leave the door open if Otho demands you return."

This time the other woman did let out a short scream of almost pure rage, before storming out the gate and back toward her house. Bilba could already see several other Hobbit women rushing in and out of her house, evidence things were proceeding as planned.

Not that it truly mattered, in the end. She'd made an attempt to provide dinner out of courtesy, and to tie up loose ends, but if Lobelia failed to come through it was no great loss. The dwarves had made do the last time without any preparation on her end at all and, if necessary, would do so again.

In the meantime, she had a few errands to run.

Literally.

***

Running from Hobbiton to Bree was as much fun as one might expect when in a body that had done no more physical activity than occasionally trimming the petunias lining her kitchen window.  

By the time she made it, Bilba's lungs were on fire, she was drenched with sweat and her mouth had a permanent, sour taste from the numerous times she'd thrown up whatever it had been she'd had for dinner the night before.

A meal eaten eighty years ago, and yesterday all at once, which was a thought more mind-twisting and confusing than she had any desire to dwell on.

She paused before the open gates of the town, braced her back on the wood and gave herself a few minutes to catch her breath. A number of hobbits and humans that she'd passed on her way in caught up, shooting her odd looks as they entered the town past her.

A few, she recalled, had yelled at her to slow down as she'd rushed past, angry that she was upsetting their leisurely stroll. Life in the Shire and surrounding areas was not known for the need for haste, except in the rare moment when conversing with a neighbor might cause one to forget a pie they'd left baking in the oven.

She forced herself upright and ran her forearm across her brow, pushing sticky, sweat-soaked strands of hair back off her face.

A human woman, carrying a large basket of freshly baked bread into the town, scoffed at her as she strode past, "And here I thought you were a boy in need of correction, not a young woman who ought to know better."

Bilba blinked in surprise but realized that, dressed in trousers and an ill-fitting shirt with her hair short and ragged, she probably did look like a boy. There was also the fact she'd aggressively bound her chest before leaving. The result chafed, pinched and was otherwise uncomfortable, but saved her from the discomfort of her bust bouncing about as she ran. It also added to the overall impression of her being male which --

_"--the only thing I could think about was how beautiful you were."_

Her heart seized inside her chest, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Before she could be dragged down a path she didn't want to travel, she clenched her fists and raised her chin in defiance. It was for the best, she told herself sharply. He never would have wanted her anyway, not the way she was now. The girl he'd fallen in love with had been easy to love and had loved easily in turn.

People had walked toward her to help back then.

Now?

They simply walked away.

Ignoring the hollow feeling that settled inside her bones like a chill she just couldn't shake, she forced herself to enter the town. She needed to be quick unless she wanted Lobelia to be the one to greet her guests.

An entertaining thought, to be sure, but probably not a great idea in the long run.

She ran her errands quickly, placing orders to be picked up when she passed through on her way to Erebor. With so little time it limited exactly what she could expect to get but anything would be better than the nothing she currently had.

A glimpse of an elven couple as she left the tailor sparked an idea and she made a detour to grab parchment and ink with which to write a short and, admittedly, terse letter that she then proceeded to post before turning toward the town gate. It might be short and to the point but, if her hunch was correct, the person receiving it would not be the least bit surprised. Exasperated possibly, but not surprised.

Confident she'd done all she could, Bilba skirted between two buildings and started heading back toward the front gate.

Two human males, tall and thin with unkempt hair, stepped out from the shadows about halfway down the alley, gap toothed grins of smug victory on their faces as they blocked her path. Behind her, Bilba sensed the two she'd rushed past moments before also stepping out, blocking her escape route.

"Well, well," one of the men started to mock as he sauntered toward her. "What do we have here?"

"Your death," Bilba retorted sharply. She might not have the muscles back yet, or her endurance and stamina, but that didn't mean she'd lost any actual _skill_. As far as her mind was concerned, she'd fought less than two days ago when a small band of brigands had mistaken her for an easy target.

The fact she'd picked up a few weapons during her visit to Bree was simply a plus.

She didn't bother waiting for them to start moving. Before she'd finished speaking, the knife resting in the sheath on her belt was in her hand. The blade had a different weight and feel to it than the one she'd carried for nearly a century but, in the end, a knife was a knife. One could serve her purpose just as well as the other.

She picked the one still sneering at her and flung the weapon, watching with satisfaction as it plunged deep into his upper thigh. His sneer dropped off instantly, and his expression began to change into one of shock and pain, but Bilba didn't make the mistake of standing still to watch.

Unfortunately, neither did one of the men behind her.

"You little --" the last word cut off as arms wrapped around her from behind and lifted her right off her feet.

Bilba kicked her feet back, and managed to collide with the man's nether regions, as evidenced by his howl of pain and the instant slackening of his arms.

Being short did have its benefits.

She hit the ground and lashed back with a foot, catching him in the shin and sending him to his knees.

A hand wrapped itself in what little hair she had left and wrenched her head back.

Before she could react, pain burst through her face. Her vision whited out and blackness rushed in at the corners of her eyes. She felt her shoulders slump as her mind gave up control to focus on staying conscious.

Her knees buckled and she fell to her hands and knees. A second blow, straight to her ribs, that drove the breath out of her, and she sagged onto her side, gasping for air. Voices mumbled over her head, but they came from far away and were unintelligible over the rush of blood pounding through her head.

A booted foot almost casually rolled her onto her back, and then there was pressure on her chest, forcing her air out. She gasped and reached for it, hands encountering a leg, but she lacked the strength or leverage to get it off. She could feel grit from the ground digging into her back and dust kicked up from her struggle clogged her airway.

Wonderful. She was going to die twice in two days. At least the first time had been to emissaries of evil and not drunk idiots in an alley.

Maybe it'd be for the best, a familiar, small voice in the back of her mind teased. Just let it all end here, before anything had started. Before anything had a chance to end. Before --

_She'd always remember his eyes._

_Most of the event, as she called it, lived on in her mind as a blur. A chaotic mash of sound, noise and color. The glint of sun off the edge of the blade. The smell of blood rising from the battle raging below. The bitter cut of cold slicing through the thin clothing and freezing her to her very marrow._

_The horror, thick enough to smother her._

_And, over all of it, the intensity of his eyes. They'd found her, fixed on her, and done their best to transmit a lifetime's worth of words in a single glance._

_His final words, and she'd been in too much of a panic to understand a single one._

_Damn_ it all, and damn her in the process.

 

With the last dregs of her consciousness sliding down a familiar well, she braced her feet and arched her back. Using fingers that felt like they weighed a ton, she managed to fumble out the thin knife she'd strapped under her shirt, bought almost as an afterthought, dragged it out and drove it into the side of the leg slowly squeezing the life out of her.

The foot vanished and she inhaled sharply. She struggled to roll to her side, hoping to push to her feet, only to feel arms grab her, wrench her upright, and slam her against the wall of the alley.

Right, there had been four attackers, not three.

The man frowned at her, and then suddenly leaned in close with a startled expression. Bilba resisted the urge to gag against the foul breath that washed over her, and instead settled for punching him in the face. Pain exploded through her knuckles, but the man reared back, hands loosening and giving her the opportunity to kick him in the same place she'd kicked his friend.

He dropped to his knees, but now the first one she'd kicked, as well as the one she'd stabbed with what amounted to a pencil, were advancing on her.

If only she had her full complement of weapons, or her armor, or the trained body that she was now realizing she hadn't given near enough credit to. Even then her legs were shaking under her, her lungs were on fire once again and her she could feel sweat trickling down her face to mingle with what she was pretty sure was blood from a cut to her cheek where she'd been punched.

She pressed back against the wall and watched warily as the two men approached. The one at her feet started to push up as he recovered from her blow, and now they were back to three. She could see a glimpse of the fourth where he'd pulled himself back against the far wall and was even then cursing both her and the weapon still lodged in his thigh.

"I think he's a she," the one at her feet grumbled as he regained his footing.

"Is that so?" one of the other men asked, leering. He braced an arm against the wall and leaned in, looming over her. "How about it then? You a girl, or a snot nosed brat in need of a beating?"

As if she were fool enough to tell them. Her mind went back to the weapons shop and she mentally kicked herself for not buying a few more knives, in spite of having nowhere to put them. Her old clothing, and armor sets, had been riddled with areas designed to hold all manner of weaponry. The shirt and trousers she wore now? Not so much.

The scrape of a boot on dirt signaled another person approaching and Bilba resisted the urge to beat her own head against the wall behind her. She really was having the worst luck today.

 _You sent me back here to destroy the ring, didn't you?_ she mentally sent out to whatever Valar had seen fit to reset time. _Do you really mean for me to die in a dirty alley before we even get started?_

There was no answer or, then again, perhaps there was because, in the next second, a voice spoke and the mere sound of it caused her heart to stop beating in her chest.

"Is there a problem here?"

No. There was just no way. He wasn't even supposed to _be_ here. He wasn't; and yet there was no mistaking that voice. There was never any mistaking it, not when the last time she'd heard it was carved into her soul.

Her view was blocked by the idiots surrounding her, but that was soon fixed as one of them grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her away from the wall. "Not at all, isn't that right, girlie? Tell him there ain't no problem here."

The other two moved, and then all she could see was the person who'd entered the alleyway, sword held easily in one hand, blue eyes sharp and entirely lacking the pain they'd held the last time she'd seen him.

The last time she'd seen him alive anyway.

The time between he'd been _cold, so very cold. All the color had been leeched from his skin, leaving it with an almost pale gray cast. Touching it was like touching granite, hard and unyielding as if in death he really had returned to the stone from which Mahal his race had first been carved._

He looked nothing like that now. Standing tall instead of laid out on a slab, the rush of blood in his veins giving his skin the glow and vitality he'd taken with him to the Hall of Mandos to await the rebuilding of the world.

A rush of joy raced over her, and it was a very good thing the thug still held her by the arm because, otherwise, she'd have run forward and thrown herself into the arms of one who was very familiar to her, and to whom she was nothing at all.

Even so, there was no helping the smile that split her face of its own accord, or the wonder in her voice as she breathed out his name.

"Thorin."


	6. Chapter 6

_Thorin had intimidated her the first time she'd seen him. He'd been more than twice her size, in height and width, and none of the latter from anything remotely resembling fat. He'd been armored and carried weapons which, granted, the others had too but none of them had possessed the sheer presence that Thorin did._

_Had there been no one there to tell her, Bilba was convinced she'd still have realized he was a king._

_She could remember self-consciously wiping suddenly sweaty hands on her dress and attempting to smooth her hair without him noticing She'd felt out of place in her own home and had straightened and raised her head to try and look a little worthier of being in the presence of someone so high ranked._

_And then, just as she'd been trying to decide if she needed to bow or curtsey or call him by some sort of title (and simultaneously cursing herself for not having thought to ask Gandalf), the dethroned king of the dwarves had turned startling blue eyes on her...and called her a grocer._

_Bilba had blinked in confusion and run the words through her mind, trying to make sense of them. While she might have preferred to be called a gardener, or maybe genteel (an image her mother had tried very hard to impart and Bilba had failed equally as hard to enact), in the end, there was nothing inherently wrong with being a grocer and she'd been unable to puzzle out exactly what it was Thorin was trying to say._

_Past that, what did a grocer even look like? The images of the ones she'd encountered in her life had started running through her mind, but she'd failed to see what it was that was similar or marked them as "grocers"._

_She'd been so thrown off balance that she'd entirely failed to even acknowledge Thorin who, after a few seconds, had simply shrugged and walked past her._

_The question had continued to plague her over the course of the quest until finally, once Thorin had finally stopped glaring at her like she was a particularly irritating pest, she'd simply asked him._

_He'd looked at her in confusion for a few minutes, before clapping her on the shoulder and saying, "I would think it obvious."_

_He'd then strode off, leaving her to seriously consider sneaking a dead fish or two into his bedroll. It hadn't been the first time she'd considered it and it would be far from the last._

_***_

The idiot holding her arm gave her another rough shake. "Go ahead, missy, tell him there ain't no problem."

Bilba rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. "I wouldn't dream of insulting his intelligence." She focused on Thorin and fought back the way her heart welled at the sight of him alive. Not the time. "I got cocky. I'd appreciate your help."

He nodded and adjusted his grip on his sword. His eyes were hard and Bilba recalled he'd just come from the dwarf lords rejecting his request for aid in retaking Erebor. He was probably in desperate need of letting off some steam, more's the pity for the idiots who'd decided to attack her.

The man holding her arm swore and shoved her against the wall, providing final verification of his own stupidity. Using her as a hostage might at least have given him a chance to escape while Thorin dealt with the others.

Instead, the man let out a cry that caused Bilba to question if puberty had skipped him entirely and proceed to charge Thorin...unarmed.

It went poorly for him.

The others still standing soon followed. One made a brief showing of it, and Bilba settled back against the wall to watch. Thorin was an absolute master when it came to swordplay, possessing an ability she'd been impressed by even before she knew enough about fighting to understand that she should be impressed.

Now that she _did_ know, honestly, it was a sheer joy just to watch him work. He moved with a speed and grace that belied his size, ducking easily to send the final attacker flying over his shoulder to hit the ground behind him with a heavy thud.

Bilba pushed off the wall as Thorin stood in the middle of four unconscious, or moaning in pain, idiots. He wasn't even winded.

"I can see why they call you Oakenshield," she said, stopping near him. "If this is what you can do with a sword, I can only imagine what you can do with just a hunk of wood."

His eyes narrowed and his sword, held loosely by his side, shifted back into a defensive position. "Do I know you?"

Bilba flinched. A sharp pain that she could swear was worse than being stabbed by Nazgul lanced through her.

Idiot, she mentally kicked herself. She _knew_ he wouldn't know her. She did, and yet here she was reacting as if it were somehow a surprise.

As if...in some strange way she'd gotten him back only to see him lost yet again.

Unbidden, her mind traveled back, ripping mental locks off doors she hadn't opened in nearly a eighty years.

_"Why are you giving him that thing?"_

_Dain's hands paused in the act of sliding the Arkenstone into Thorin's stiff hands, awkwardly folding rigid fingers, creating a brief, sickening mockery of life in an otherwise silent form._

_"It belongs to him." Dain's voice was weary, thick with grief over the loss of his kin and the demands of the monarchy. He'd been crowned immediately, and unwillingly. The crown should have been Thorin's, and he knew it. It was for this reason alone that Bilba had been unable to hate him, though Mahal knows there had been times she'd tried. "It was the reason he came."_

_"It was the reason he died," Bilba shot back, the thick anger of those early days already settling into her bones. Against her back she felt the cold edge of another slab, one she no longer had the strength to look upon. "It was the reason they all died."_

_Dain gazed at her, a look of compassion in his eyes, and Bilba clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. He'd refused to let her leave until he could provide a proper escort, had physically barred the gates and given orders to keep her locked inside. It was meant as a kindness but, so far, hearing the echo of voices that would never again speak was slowly driving her mad. She could feel it, day after day, like a constant skittering over her skin as her sanity slowly drained from her, drop by drop. Perhaps soon she'd be little more than a mad, scrambling thing, like that pathetic creature she'd met in the goblin caves._

_Perhaps that was what had been wrong with him. Somewhere in his past he'd suffered so great a loss it had crushed him. Perhaps meeting him had been merely looking into a mirror, into what he'd once been, and what she would one day become._

_If only she'd paid closer attention._

_"It is what he would have wanted." Dain nodded at her, and then quietly took his leave, back to the cares and concerns of the living._

_Bilba watched him go, arms crossed, fingers digging into her arms until the skin threatened to burst beneath her nails._

_She pushed off the slab she leaned against and approached Thorin's, studying him for what she knew would be the last time. Already, Dwalin had stepped into the doorway, waiting for her. He'd taken to following her, a shadow dogging her steps no matter how hard she tried to shake him. Once she left, the door would be closed and locked behind her._

_Dain had given orders it was not to be opened again. Not for her at least._

_Suddenly the gravity of it crashed down on her. The fact that this was it, that she was never going to see him, any of them, ever again. That she couldn't just stay here forever and that a time was rapidly approaching, was there in fact, where they would finally, irreparably, forever...be gone._

_With a strangled scream, she wrenched the Arkenstone from Thorin's fingers and threw it as hard as she could. "I hate you!"_

_The stone hit the ground with a quiet clink but Bilba didn't hear it as she grabbed Thorin's arm and shook him violently. "Why?" Her vision blurred and her voice cracked as her control splintered. "Why did you let that stone corrupt you?" She shook him harder, almost managing to move him on the slab. "Answer me, damn you! Why?!"_

_Then Dwalin's arms were grabbing her, wrapping around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her straight up off the ground. She screamed in rage and fought him, but she was no match for him, never had been and never would be, and he simply started to carry her toward the door. He set her down as they neared the threshold and she lunged, trying to get past him and into the room. He held her back and she lashed out at him, "Let me go!"_

_"No." His voice was flat, empty and, for some reason, it only made her angrier._

_She raged at him, "It was your fault! I hate you!" It wasn't, and she didn't, but the words came out anyway and she couldn't seem to stop them. She pounded her fists against his chest as she screamed, and he let her. "Why weren't you there? You were supposed to be there!"_

_"I know." That same flatness, that same blank look. When she tried to fight her way past him again, he simply held her wrists and kept her back. When she tried to kick him, he pushed her against the frame of the door and pinned her into place. "You're not going back in there, Bilba. You need to say good-bye."_

_Bilba shook her head. She'd started crying at some point, so hard the slabs over his shoulder were little more than blurred images. "I can't."_

_"You can." Dwalin turned finally to let her face fully back into the room but refused to release her arms. "You need to let him go."_

_Bilba shook her head, eyes going to that far slab before wrenching away again._

_Dwalin started to pull her out, but she frantically set her feet. "Wait... please. I'll do it...just...please, wait."_

_He stopped, and then unexpectedly he released his hold on her and instead wrapped an arm around her waist. Bilba responded in kind, and then used her other hand to grab onto the front of his jerkin._

_She forced herself to take a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm down. There was no way she could look at the far slab and hope to keep the final shreds of her sanity, so she focused on Thorin instead, noting the pale cast to his face, the mottling already taking place as decay began to settle in._

_If only...if only he'd open his eyes. If only all of them would, just sit up and declare it a sick, **sick** joke. If only --_

"Are you all right?"

Bilba started violently, mind snapping back to the present, and she reached up in surprise to the tear slowly making its way down her face.

Long buried memories reached for her once more, tendrils threatening to pull her back again, and she took a minute to close her eyes and shake her head as if she could physically dislodge them.

"Sorry." She forced herself to take a deep breath. She clenched her hand into a fist at her side, until she felt the memories grudgingly subside. She opened her eyes, letting the breath out, and relaxing minutely as she got herself back under control. Slowly the doors closed once again and the locks were put back in place, albeit weaker than they had been. "We haven't met." Her voice was flat, and she carefully uncurled her fingers. "Gandalf's just told me so much about you that it feels as though we have."

He frowned. "You know Gandalf?"

"I do." The last bits of her control slid into place and she let herself finally, fully relax. He must think her utterly pathetic. How long had it been since she'd last lost control? Not since Dwalin had turned his back on her probably and, even then, she'd held her control until his bootsteps had faded. She wasn't that starry eyed, naive little girl anymore, prone to tears and fits of emotion at the drop of a coin.

Words, Thorin's words, spoken long ago, ran through her mind. _"If this is to end in fire, then we shall all burn together."_

And so they had, and the woman who'd emerged out the other side of that fire had nothing at all in common with the girl who'd gone in. As she'd told Gandalf, that girl was dead and gone and good riddance to her.

"I'm your burglar," she said, lifting her chin and meeting Thorin's eyes. "You're to meet at my home tonight."

One eyebrow rose slightly as his eyes very slowly slid down her frame and back up again. "You don't look like a burglar," he said finally. "You look more like a--"

His voice trailed off and Bilba bit back an unexpected laugh at his inability to describe her. To be honest, she wasn't sure how to describe herself at the moment. "I think looking like a burglar would be a bit counterproductive, don't you?" she asked, cutting into his reflection. "Bad for business and all that."

"Fair enough." He bent to rip off part of the shirt of one of the attackers, using it to clean his blade before sheathing it. "I had thought to pass the day here before heading out, but I'd rather not have to deal with the town guard."

"Understandable." He seemed content to overlook her emotional...lapse, and Bilba was content to have it overlooked. "You can come with me. Bag End has guest rooms, you can clean up from your journey and rest before the others arrive."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble." His eyes met hers, and she could almost feel the desire to do just that radiating off him. Not for the first time, she realized just how out of sorts he must have been the first go around; exhausted, travel worn, rejected by his own people and then forced to immediately deal with her and the Company without so much as a moment's rest.

She stepped forward, carefully moving over and around the still-crumpled forms of the idiots on the ground. Stopping near Thorin, she knelt and quickly yanked her knife out of the first one's leg, rolling her eyes at his shout of pain. "Oh, hush, that was barely a scratch."

She stood again and addressed Thorin. "It's no trouble. It's the least I can do after you saved me from these morons. Thank you for that, by the way."

He nodded and turned to follow her from the alleyway. "I have a pony in the stables. "

"Fantastic," Bilba surprised herself by grinning at him over her shoulder. "That will make it much faster getting home. I was planning to run it."

"Run?" Thorin asked in surprise, falling in alongside her.

Bilba shrugged. "I've gotten out of shape, best to start getting back in it as soon as possible."

He gave a non-committal grunt that could have meant anything, or nothing, at all and fell into silence.

Beside him, Bilba forced back the small part of her that still wanted to throw her arms around him, tell him how much she'd missed him and then yell at him for dying in the first place.

This wasn't her Thorin, she told herself firmly, not really. He looked like Thorin, walked like him, talked like him and certainly fought like him, but it wasn't _truly_ him. That was the best way to think of it, because if she didn't, she wasn't going to survive when the rest of them came.

When _he_ came.

Her hands slowly curled into fists once more and she resisted the urge to laugh, cry and scream all at once. She'd wondered how in the world she was going to face him, and now she knew without a doubt there was only one way she _could._

Somehow, between now and this evening, she had to convince herself that they were all strangers. That the dwarf beside her and the ones soon to arrive were nothing but part of a job, fellow travelers who happened to have familiar faces. That _he_ was nothing but a lookalike, a ghost of her past contained in the body of a guest.

That was what she would need to convince herself of, and soon, as the sun was already past its peak in the sky.

It was almost enough to make her wish for the simpler days when all she had to worry about were orcs or bandits trying to kill her in her sleep.

Almost.


	7. Chapter 7

Bilba sat on the back of Thorin's pony and watched the path spooling out behind them. As they rode, she could feel Thorin's back pressed against hers, the first, and so far only, point of physical contact she'd had with him.

She'd expected him to feel cold.  

The thought led in a dangerous direction, so she sat up straighter and pulled away from him. He was a stranger, she reminded herself for the thousandth time. This Thorin had never raged at her and threatened her life, never bled out in her arms, never lain motionless and cold on a slab.

She didn't know him any more than she'd known him the first time around. Well, aside from the fact that she was aware this time that Thorin truly sucked at insults, and that it only got worse the more fatigued he was.

As far as Bilba could tell, no one had ever seen fit to tell him. Whether from deference to his rank or simply for the sake of humor, she had no idea.

She sighed and lifted her head to study the cloudless sky. The sun was beginning its downward trek and she could already feel the barest hint of coolness in the air as the temperature began to fall. It would be late afternoon to early evening by the time they got back to Bag End. That should give Thorin time to clean up and rest and her time enough to see the food Lobelia delivered set up and waiting.

The barest hint of noise caught her attention from the left side of the trail, and she pushed up even straighter at the exact moment Thorin pulled the pony to a stop.

The sound of hooves chomping through the underbrush reached her ears and she tensed as the scene around her seemed to darken, shifting back to what, to her, was only the day before when she'd last heard hoofbeats like that.

She suppressed a shudder and slid forward, off the back of the pony. Her feet hit the ground and, without really noticing, she put a hand on Thorin's leg to steady herself.

Two cloaked riders emerged from the woods onto the path. For a second Bilba's muscles wound tight around her bones, and her fingers curled into a near claw where they rested on Thorin's leg.

Then she blinked, the scene wavered, and the riders were suddenly Men wearing brown clothing and green cloaks, seated upon two dun colored mares.

Bilba let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and stepped forward. "Rangers," she greeted, coolly, "what brings you so near the borders of Hobbiton?"

The two Men blinked in surprise, staring at her in astonishment, and Bilba guessed she'd, once again, been mistaken for a young boy.

"Apologies, Miss," the one, a middle-aged man with dark hair and green eyes, said. He nodded toward Thorin in greeting. "Master Dwarf. We've had reports of orcs lurking about these parts, so we've pulled patrols in nearer to the borders."

"Orcs?" Bilba asked in surprise. "You're sure?"

"We are." This came from the younger one, a redhead with a quick smile and an easy-going manner about him. Bilba imagined her younger self _might_ have developed a crush on him. Now, all she felt was a momentary burst of sorrow for the man he would undoubtedly one day become, once life had finished crushing him into something unrecognizable. "We can escort you the rest of the way, if you wish."

"I'm sure we'll be fine." Thorin interjected before she could, not that she disagreed. The last thing she wanted, or needed, were two tagalongs. "We passed a young family a way back. I'm sure they would appreciate your offer of escort."

The older man nodded. "We'll take our leave then. Good day to you both."

They turned their horses down the path, toward Bree, and Bilba half turned to watch them go. Once they vanished around a curve she let out an annoyed huff and turned toward Hobbiton, this time walking.

Thorin came alongside her, keeping pace with her while still mounted, and Bilba absently hooked her fingers through the pony's bridle.

"Is that normal?" Thorin asked suddenly, "To have orcs this far in?"

"No. Not since the last time the river froze over, and that was ages ago." Disquiet settled in her. She didn't remember hearing about orcs in the area her first time through but, then again, she hadn't been one to leave her house. There very well could have been orcs, and she'd just been oblivious to it. "I imagine they'll leave now that the Rangers draw close."

Her mind went back to Gandalf's concern about others being aware of time's reset. The thought gave her slight pause, but no more than that. She could see no reason why the orcs would remember anything and, even if they did, they couldn't know the reason for the reset. And while she'd certainly made her share of enemies in that now lost future, she doubted any of them had known enough about her to find where she had once lived, and even if they had, it hadn't even been a full day yet. There was no way for them to get there that fast.

"I didn't think Hobbit females were as rare as dwarven ones," Thorin suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

Bilba turned to look at him in confusion. They'd been relatively silent with one another since leaving Bree. Thorin had never been one to engage in idle conversation, and Bilba had lost the stomach for it a long time ago. "I beg your pardon?"

"They seemed shocked to see you," Thorin elaborated, nodding back in the direction the Men had gone. "I've seen the reaction when it involves a dwarven woman, but not a hobbit one."

"Hobbit women aren't rare," Bilba said slowly, shaking her head at the odd conversation. "They just don't usually wear trousers or cut their hair short." She frowned and raised an eyebrow. "Dwarven women are really that rare?"

She'd heard of it before and, granted, couldn't remember seeing many during her visits to Erebor but she hadn't exactly been looking. Usually, her visits involved her being, grudgingly, dragged before Dain and then immediately leaving once again. She'd only once stayed for any length of time and that was due to a festering injury she'd been nursing when Dwalin had shown up. She'd mostly stayed in her bed, not wandered about Erebor counting female dwarves.

The timing of Dwalin's arrival on that occasion coupled with a few past coincidences, had actually been what had sparked off the suspicion that --  

"They are," Thorin agreed, cutting into her thoughts once again, "and many of the few that do exist tend to dress and look as you do, to ward off the avalanche of suitors they attract."

Bilba surprised herself by laughing. "It's that much of a problem?"

The barest hint of a smile flashed across Thorin's face. "It certainly was for my sister. Imagine being the only single female surrounded by dozens of hopeful suitors. Her marriage was considered a day of mourning amongst some."

Bilba chuckled, even as her good humor faded at the mention of Dis. Not every victim of what had come to be called the Battle of Five Armies had been on the field, or even in Erebor.

"So, does that mean most of your companions are unmarried?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. "I had wondered how you managed to get so many to agree to a quest that would take them from their homes for close to a year."

"All but one," Thorin replied. "And what of you, Mistress Baggins? Your family has no qualms about you running off with a group of unknown dwarves for a year?"

There was a note of distrust in his voice that Bilba wouldn't have picked up on had she not spent months hearing it every time he addressed her.

She was silent for a few minutes, eyes studying the road ahead now instead of the one behind. The last time she'd walked this path toward Bag End had been in the company of Dwalin. She remembered feeling as if she were being marched to a jail cell, where she'd be left to rot until the end of her days. Had she stayed, that's exactly what it would have ended up being, of that she had no doubt.

"I have no one," she said finally. "Not anymore. My absence will be noted, but I will be little missed."

There was no bitterness in her voice, nor resentment. She'd allowed herself to become a hermit after the loss of her parents, shut away in her home where nothing and no one could ever reach her. People had stopped trying after a while, drifting off to their own lives and families and she'd been too mired in her own loss and lack of confidence to even recognize what she'd done to herself.

It hadn't been until she'd returned, and stood in the ruined bones of her home, picked clean by vultures more saddened by the loss of their plunder than gladdened at news of her survival that she'd understood. Not until she'd had to go door to door and been met with disappointment; been forced to buy back her own property, grudgingly given by those who'd rather have her silver spoons than her, that'd she'd realized.

The dwarves never had. That was why they'd been so adamant about getting her home. They'd believed she'd be taken care of there, surrounded by loved ones and family that could help her heal and carry on with her life.

They hadn't understood that her life had been built while on the quest and shattered beyond repair upon the slopes of Ravenhill. She'd returned to the Shire carrying broken shards, and there was no more help for her there than in Erebor.

If Dwalin hadn't gone with her, hadn't seen her to the very door of Bag End and then delayed leaving again...it was quite possible she'd simply have shut the door and never opened it again. Spent her days living in silence, with little but ghosts and her memories to keep her company.

Dwalin had saved her, though the action had brought him nothing but grief in the end.

"I'm sorry," Thorin said from behind her shoulder. For a second, Bilba thought he was referencing the incident that had led to her finally managing to drive off the only person who'd genuinely given a damn about her. Then her mind went further back, to what she'd been discussing before she'd lapsed once more into her memories.

"The road goes ever on," she said softly.

Here was hoping this time it led her somewhere she wanted to go.  

***

The shadows were just beginning to lengthen by the time they arrived back at Hobbiton. Thorin had dismounted at some point and, together, they led the pony up the narrow path to Bag End's gate.

Bilba hooked the reins of the pony to the front gate. "I'll come back and take care of him in a few minutes."

She bounded up the front steps and let herself into the smial. She showed Thorin the guest bedroom and bathroom and then stepped back into the hall. "I'll put coffee on but feel free to help yourself to something from the pantry."

He nodded, pulling his gloves off. He still wore his sword and Bilba didn't even consider offering to take it. He might be showing her civility, but that didn't mean she'd earned his trust and she wasn't foolish enough to think she had.

"What will you be doing?" he asked.

"Taking care of the pony for starters." The mark on her back was hurting again, and she absently linked her arms over her head and stretched, hoping it would help. The pain faded slightly, back into a faint awareness of its presence, but only if she concentrated on it. "Feel free to wander around if you like and you aren't tired. You'll find Hobbiton relatively safe."

He raised an eyebrow. "Relatively?"

She shrugged. "Is anywhere entirely safe?"

"Fair enough." He gave her another nod and vanished into the room, door closing behind him.

Bilba stood in the hallway, studying the closed door. She was half tempted to open it again, if only to prove to herself that Thorin was really in there and that he was alive. It wouldn't be the first nightmare she'd had of finding one of them laid out in her home, eyes open and sightless. The worst ones were where they didn't stay sightless but instead locked on her, accusing, questioning why it was they were dead, and she was not.

She let out a breath and spun on one heel to head back out.

She tended to Thorin's pony, removing its gear, and brushing it out with a curry comb found in one of the packs. After, she led it around the back of the smial and staked it down in the party field, choosing a spot that afforded access to the river and the shade of a nearby tree. She doubted it would need it, the temperature already having fallen to a pleasant coolness complete with a light breeze that did its best to lift what little was left of her hair.

She returned to the smial to find it silent and figured Thorin must be taking advantage of rest before the evening. She brewed herself a cup of coffee, left the pot on a banked fire and retreated once again to the bench at the base of her front walkway.

By then, the shadows were long, casting most of the Shire in thick shade. Lights were beginning to come on in various homes and she could hear the faint chatter of voices as families began to gather for dinner.

She sensed movement behind her and then, to her surprise, Thorin appeared. He sank down next to her with a sigh, his own cup of coffee clenched in one hand. His hair was wet, and he'd removed his light armor and sword, leaving him looking no less intimidating but at least more refreshed.

"It's a peaceful place," he said, following her gaze, "your Shire."

"It can be," Bilba agreed. "Though it's not my Shire, hasn't been for a very long time."

"And why is that?" She felt him turn his head to look toward her but, fortunately, at that moment she caught sight of someone traveling up the path out of the corner of her eye.

Setting her cup on the bench beside her, she rose and turned to face Lobelia in the gathering twilight. The other woman was carrying a large, covered dish and, behind her, Bilba could see several other women also heading her direction, all carrying dishes and baskets.

"For Yavanna's sake," Lobelia said as she came to a stop in front of Bilba. "Every time I see you there's something new. Have you gone mad since this morning?"

Bilba had assumed she had a black eye from being punched, it still hurt as did her ribs where she'd taken blows but hadn't bothered to confirm it. Now she just shrugged. If Lobelia wanted to decide she'd lost her mind and proceed to tell everyone in the Shire as she was wont to do, so be it. Bilba wouldn't be around to hear, or care.

Lobelia, she noted, had shadows of her own under her eyes and looked haggard. Her hair was tied back, and she'd removed the ever-present hat and even tied on an apron over her gown. There were clear food stains on her clothing, and her hands had residue from what looked like flour and sugar on them. Behind her, many of the other woman approaching looked no different.

"Thank you, Lobelia." Bilba reached out to take the dish from her. "Let me help you with that."

A presence loomed over her shoulder, and then Thorin was reaching for it. "Allow me."

Bilba handed over the dish and reached for the nearest one past it. The smells from the various dishes began to hit her nose and her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten all day. Hadn't eaten since before she died, in fact. She supposed she couldn't be blamed for having her appetite thrown off by a _knife_ in her back, but it was clear it had now recovered and was quickly demanding she address it.

"Is that one of your guests?" Lobelia nodded toward where Thorin was heading up the steps into Bag End, followed by several of the other women with their own dishes.

"One of them," Bilba agreed softly. She frowned as another woman strode past. "Perhaps I should pay them. They put in a lot of work."

Lobelia snorted. "Not with the way you've been behaving. Better they be seen as having helped me than you."

Bilba chuckled. Thorin returned and relieved her of the dish she was holding, vanishing back inside again with a quick grin, apparently as happy about getting to eat as she was. The look briefly made him look younger, boyish almost, and she felt her heart twist at the injustice of the fate that had befallen him the first time around.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Lobelia asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Do you really want me to?" Bilba asked. "The less you know, the more you can simply claim your goal was Bag End, not aiding me."

Lobelia scowled, and Bilba could almost hear the internal war raging as her desire to be above reproach warred with her desire to be nosey. In the end, the first won out as, with a huff, she turned and stomped back down the lane again, most likely to oversee the rest of the dishes being brought out.

Bilba stayed on the lane, watching the women of Hobbiton pass her with dishes containing hams, turkeys, fish, pies, salads, breads and everything in between. A few of the women gave her slight smiles but, for the most part, they ignored her, hurrying in and out of Bag End as quickly as possible.

Word spread fast.

Bilba didn't blame them. They had to stay after all, once she left, and face the social pressures of Hobbiton which could often be brutal.

The last rays of the sun vanished as she stood on the lane, leaving only the light spilling from porch lamps and the windows of Bag End and other homes.

Crossing her arms in the face of the sudden chill in the air, Bilba set her legs in a wide stance, turned her back on Bag End and locked her eyes on some empty spot in the distance. Her stomach felt tied in knots, and the desire to do...something, was slowly rising inside her.

Part of her wanted to run.

Part of her wanted to stay.

In the end she simply stood still and waited.

The shuffle of boots on dirt reached her ears finally, and she closed her eyes as a wave of pure ice ran through her. "You can do this," she whispered to herself. "Get it together."

The boots stopped at Bag End's gate and Bilba took a deep breath. She _could_ do this. Remember, it's just a stranger. Just another one of Thorin's guests who'd look at her like he'd never known her, hadn't saved her from entombing herself inside Bag End, hadn’t finally had enough of her and left her behind.

"Hobbit," the voice was right next to her and she jumped in surprise. Of course he'd snuck up on her. No matter his memories of her, or lack thereof; no matter the bitterness of that final fight, or the stiffness and distance of their future meetings, nothing could change the fact he was the closest thing she'd ever had to a best friend. Nothing could change the fact that she'd come to trust him with her life, and always would. "I'm looking for a Baggins."

Bilba let out the breath she'd been holding, forced the empty smile she'd worn when compelled to interact with normal people in various villages and cities, and turned to face him.

"You must be Dwalin," she said with all the false cheer she could muster. "We've been waiting for you. Welcome to Bag End."


	8. Chapter 8

_"I'm done."_

_Bilba paused in the process of rolling up her bedroll and looked at Dwalin in confusion. He was already fully packed and outfitted to leave, which was unusual for him. Usually, she was the one impatiently waiting to move out while Dwalin took his time, often remarking, "You do realize we have nowhere we have to be, right?"_

_"Done with what?" She thought back over their morning but couldn't place his words into any context._

_He gave a loud exhale and, for just an instant, his eyes flickered away from her as if he couldn't entirely maintain eye contact. That wasn't like him, and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. "I'm going back to Erebor."_

_Bilba's breath froze in her lungs. Her mouth opened, and then closed again. She **wanted** to misunderstand him, to assume he meant as a visit, only for a short time, but she knew better. She'd known him far too long to misunderstand. "Is this about Balin?" she finally managed to get out on a strangled breath. "Because you blame me?"_

_Dwalin made an annoyed sound. "I already told you I don't. It's just time to stop."_

_"Stop what?" Bilba pushed to her feet. Hurt began to solidify into anger and her voice was sharp._

_"Stop blaming yourself for something you had nothing to do with." Dwalin said, the barest hint of resignation already in his voice. It was an old argument, and a repetitive one. At some point they'd stopped having it because it never went anywhere, but now here it was all over again. "This isn't what he would have wanted."_

_Bilba sucked in a harsh gasp. The anger burst into full blown rage and she curled her hands into fists. "Don't you try think you can speak for him. You have **no** idea what he would have wanted."_

_"You forget I knew him too," Dwalin said tightly._

_And longer than you. The words weren't spoken but they were there all the same and, under them, that same old question. Why had Dwalin chosen to stay with her after Erebor? Care, or duty? Friendship, or obligation? It was a question she'd never asked, for fear she already knew the answer._

_"Why are you doing this?" she asked. Her voice flattened as she spoke and she carefully began the process of packing the pain away, of packing Dwalin away. It was already done, she knew him well enough to know that, which meant her only choice now was to accept it. She was only ever allowed that option, she thought bitterly. Never a chance to change anything, just **accept** it._

_He sighed. "Because it's not healthy, Bilba. Being out here--"_

_"We're helping people," Bilba cut in. "Or does that not mean anything to you?"_

_"You're running," Dwalin corrected, "and doing your best to get yourself killed. It's time to let it go."_

_"I can't," Bilba whispered. She felt cold even though it was mid-summer and the morning had been warm mere moments before._

_Dwalin growled in frustration. "You can. You just won't." He gestured at their surroundings. "Do you think he'd have wanted **this**? Spending your life alone?"_

_Except she hadn't been alone, not until now._

_Her vision blurred and she tightened her clenched fists until pain radiated through her nerves from her fingernails digging into the skin._

_She was **not** going to cry in front of him. _

_She **wasn't**._

_"Just go," she managed to get out, through gritted teeth._

_He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "Bilba. That's not--"_

_"I said go!" She drew her sword, **his** sword, and pointed it at the one person she'd never thought would betray her. Then again, she'd never thought a lot of things would happen in her life, but that had never stopped them. "I don't need you anymore. I can fight and survive well enough on my own."_

_He stared at her, and the intensity of his eyes was something she would carry with her a long time. "What you're doing isn't surviving, Bilba. It's just dying slow."_

_Bilba shook her head, and almost lost control of the moisture filling her eyes. "Just leave," she demanded, and her voice definitely did not waver on the end, didn't fluctuate in the slightest._

_Dwalin didn't move so, with a curse, Bilba sheathed her sword, and knelt to grab her knapsack which, thankfully, had already been packed. By Dwalin._

_She hefted it over her shoulder, turned on one heel and began to walk away, leaving her bedroll, and everything else, behind._

_She thought he would come after her, or at least call her name._

_He did neither._

_She stopped just past the line of trees, out of sight and, after a few minutes, heard the sound of his boots --_

_Walking away._

_She didn't cry._

_Not for a long time, not until she was well and truly sure that he was gone far past hearing her._

_It took her weeks to accept it was real, that he'd actually left, and wasn't coming back._

_It took her weeks to understand she truly had meant that little to him._

_Dain had begun doing his checks on her a few months later, but she wasn't stupid enough to repeat the mistake of believing it was because he cared about her wellbeing. It was just another obligation. A way to show respect to the one who rightfully should have been sitting on the throne of Erebor._

_It would be a year and a half before Dain grew tired of her beating up his soldiers and sent Dwalin to get her._

_By that time, Bilba had managed to finally lock away the pain of his leaving and had greeted him as the stranger he was. The fact she'd gone with him without resistance, then and every time after, meant nothing. He always treated her the same as ever, but she never made the mistake of doing so again. There was no going back, no pretending._

_It was simply not the same, and never would be again._

***

Bilba felt an old, dull ache and a hollowness somewhere deep inside but it was a familiar pain and one she'd long grown used to carrying. Dwalin had been a stranger to her for a long time and was even more of one now. She wouldn't make the same mistake she'd made the last time around. He was not her friend, never had been and never would be.

He was studying her, eyes narrowed in the way she recognized meant he was trying to figure something out. He almost appeared to be evaluating her, and Bilba wondered what it was that was so different about her this time around. Well, besides the obvious, of course and, honestly, was it so very odd? She'd had short hair and worn trousers for decades after Erebor, and no one had ever so much as batted an eye. Now she did it and everyone was up in arms.

Well, everyone in the Shire. Thorin hadn't batted an eye, while Dwalin --

"What'd you do to your hair?" he asked bluntly.

Bilba frowned. "Cut it. I'd think that'd have been obvious."

Her voice was sharp as she instinctively slid into the way she normally spoke to him, and away from the near saccharine greeting she'd given him moments earlier. She _had_ tried, it was his own damn fault. He just...brought it out of her.

"Huh," he grunted. "Thought you kept your knives sharper than that."

Bilba blinked.

What?

Before her brain could process what he'd just said, and what it meant, a shout came from the door of Bag End. There was the barest flicker of emotion in Dwalin's eyes which, for him, was akin to a shout, and then he spun easily on one heel and strode to meet Thorin where he stood waiting in the doorway.

Bilba stared after him in confusion.

Did he --

He turned from where he'd been speaking to Thorin and called down to her. "You planning to come in or just stand there gaping like a fish?"

Bilba's heart jolted in her chest, and she felt her eyes go wide. Thorin raised an eyebrow and leaned over to say something to Dwalin. She couldn't hear what the response was but the two of them walked inside the smial, leaving her on the pathway below.

Did he remember?

It made no sense. Why would he remember? Her, yes, because she couldn't very well destroy the ring without remembering it needed to be destroyed to begin with. Gandalf because he wasn't exactly the human he pretended to be, and a few others she suspected for logical reasons.

But Dwalin? She couldn't explain that one. He didn't fit in any of the categories, didn't fit _any_ category in fact, besides the simple fact that he'd still been alive when she'd been stabbed in the back by a Nazgul.

Was that it? Everyone who was still alive remembered? If that were the case it'd mean...what? That Gloin, Bombur, Bofur, and Dori would soon arrive demanding to know what was going on?

No, no, she didn't think so. If they remembered, they'd _already_ be there. They hadn't been far, just off in the Green Dragon over in Bywater. She couldn't imagine them just choosing to stay and wait to find out what was going on.

Dwalin...Dwalin she could see doing exactly that for no other reason than he was Dwalin.

Still. She frowned in the direction of her doorway and tried to decide how she felt about the possibility. As far as she was concerned she'd seen him less than three weeks ago, back when he'd shown up to bring her extra supplies because the weather had been colder than normal. As usual, she'd demanded to know how he always knew her location and, as usual, his response had been to simply ignore the question.

Things had been stilted and awkward, and Bilba had absolutely not felt any measure of relief at not having to be alone for a while, just as she refused to feel any relief now at the thought he might remember. If he did, he'd probably just make her life harder. Mahal knew his stubbornness rivaled her own and he'd undoubtedly have _opinions_ on how things should go.

Maybe she could set him on Gandalf. _He_ certainly had opinions as well, on about every damn subject there was. He and Dwalin could spend all their time arguing with one another about what should or should not be done and leave her alone to actually _get_ things done.

Chewing on her lower lip, she started toward the stairs, albeit slowly. If he _did_ remember, then he hadn't seen Thorin in eighty years, after a lifetime of them being best friends and shield brothers. The least she could do was give Dwalin a few minutes to catch up before she barged in and started passive aggressively trying to find out how much he did or did not know.

The women had finished bringing food and Lobelia had vanished, off to pretend she didn't know Bilba outside of wanting to get Bag End from her.

She reached the top step just before her door and sank down on it, absently stretching one leg out and resting her arm on her other knee.

The shuffle of footsteps signaled her next guest's arrival and she closed her eyes at the last memory she had of him -

_Balin_

_Son of Fundin_

_Lord of Moria_

_Bilba scoffed. "Fool. What does it matter if you're dead?"_

_She sighed, lowering the tip of her sword toward the ground. She'd known her trip was in vain as soon as she'd snuck in through Moria's back gate but still..._

_She'd hoped. If she could just find Balin, then he could send word to Erebor that he was all right and then maybe Dwalin --_

_Her shoulders slumped. Idiot. She raised her head to study the empty chamber, silence hanging like a thick blanket over the dark and dusty room. The beam of light coming from a hole in the rock did little to make the place feel any more than what it was, a tomb._

_Old memories of the last time she'd been in a tomb threatened to surface and she scowled. This whole thing had been a waste of time._

_She shot one more look at the tomb. "Was it worth it?"_

_There was no answer, and, with a muttered curse, she spun on her heel and left, leaving the room silent once more, and Balin the lord of none but the dead strewn about him._

***

"Excuse me, Miss." Balin stopped just before the gate and gave her a pleasant expression. "Would this happen to be Bag End?"

"It is." It was hard to keep the coldness out of her voice, but Bilba figured it would come across as little more than typical suspicion given toward a stranger. She'd harbored a lot of anger at him over the years and, even now, was tempted to yell at him for so stupid a decision as thinking he could take back Moria with a paltry band of soldiers. Balin had always been the _reasonable_ one. Whatever had driven him to do something so utterly insane, something _she_ wouldn't have even dreamed of trying, was a question that had haunted her a long time.

Balin opened the gate and Bilba pushed to her feet and stepped aside. "You're the third to arrive, the other two are already inside."

Balin nodded his thanks and walked past, vanishing inside the house. Briefly, Bilba considered following, to give Dwalin some sort of support as he was potentially faced with both his dead best friend and dead brother but decided against it.

He would not thank her for it.

Instead she began to pace before her doorway, arms wrapped around her chest and fingers digging into her forearms. She knew what came next, _who_ came next, and now she was past the point of putting it off, no more pretending it wasn't happening.

"Okay," she whispered to herself. "You can do this. You can."

Her breath grew short, and she felt lightheaded. She'd started shaking as well, and she tightened her grip on her arms in a futile effort to try and calm down.

It would be _fine_. He was a stranger. A total stranger and he would come and look straight through her and it wouldn't hurt because it was just a stranger. Just another, random dwarf come to join the quest and he wouldn't find her beautiful and he _would_ find her abrasive and off-putting just as everyone always did and he'd choose to stay as far from her as possible and it'd be _fine_.

Just fine.

She'd go on the quest and keep to herself and, at the end, everyone would be alive and she'd just...go away. Go away and finally be left alone and, damn it all, why couldn't she seem to stop shaking?

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she staggered, leaning hard against the doorframe. Gorge rose inside her and she had the sudden surreal thought that she was on the verge of losing food she'd eaten yesterday, eighty years in the future.

A near hysterical giggle escaped her and, in that precise moment, she heard the sound of voices coming up her path.

Voices, and one of them sliced through her like a sharp blade slicing flesh, and then she felt hollow, and she was choking, and acid was rushing through her mouth all at once.

She stumbled inside, and caught sight of Dwalin, standing near the entrance to the kitchen. There was no sign of Thorin or Balin, for which she was eternally grateful.

Dwalin had his arms crossed over his chest and the look on his face was set, as if he stood before some nameless foe he had no choice but to face.

She could relate.

For the briefest of seconds, her stomach settled. Then the voices came again, now at her very gate, and suddenly it was all she could do to scramble for her bedroom, slam the door behind her and race to her bathroom.

She barely made it in time and, as she spectacularly lost everything she'd eaten in the last month, her one and only thought was how utterly wrong she'd been in this whole thing.

 

She couldn't do this.


	9. Chapter 9

Feeling suddenly weak, Bilba sagged onto the floor, back against the bathroom wall. Her breathing was short and shallow, and her heart hammered a staccato beat in her ears. Her entire body began to shake violently and spots spun about in her vision as her consciousness wavered.

She couldn't do this.

She _couldn't_. She couldn't even bear the thought of him and she was supposed to travel with him? See him every day without being able to touch him?

Watch him look at her without so much as a spark of recognition?

It _would_ kill her.

And, even if it didn't, then what? She was going to save them? How arrogant to even think it. She couldn't save them the first time; how could she think the second time would be different? There was no way to predict what, if anything, would happen as a result of her changing things. She could make it better, or exponentially worse.   

Change something here, and the trolls eat a few members of the Company.

A seemingly insignificant step there and Azog kills them all outside the goblin caves.

A slight misstep and Smaug roasts them all alive.

A momentary lapse of attention and Sauron has the ring and all Middle Earth is doomed and she saved her friends only to watch them die anyway.

A shadow fell over her and then Dwalin was stiffly lowering himself with a grunt to sit against the wall of the bathroom opposite her.

Bilba found herself smirking in spite of her rising panic. "What's wrong, Gaffer?" The words were stuttered and breathy as she struggled to catch her breath, one hand pressed against her chest where her heart hammered wildly. "Getting arthritis already?"

He _had_ been the last time she'd seen him, before the whole stabbed in the back thing. Not much, but a little. He'd been stiffer in the mornings, his reaction times just a little slower. Seeing it had brought a gut-clenching terror because she'd already known that, while he was aging, she was not.

"Gotta say, I was expecting a different reaction," Dwalin drawled, ignoring the jibe as he always did. "Less panic, more me having to try and explain why you tackled the Crown Prince."

"Screw you, Bastard." Bilba braced her feet, shoved against the wall and arched her back to try and get more air. Her heartrate slowed fractionally and her breathing, while still shallow, got just a little better. She still felt ice cold and an involuntary shiver ran over her frame. She clenched her teeth until her jaw creaked. "Does he remember?"

Dwalin's face was expressionless. "No."

Bile surged up her throat. Bilba grimaced and pressed the back of a fist to her mouth, shutting her eyes as she tried to keep from getting sick all over again.

"You could always just tell him," Dwalin said mildly.

Bilba barked out a harsh laugh. "Oh, I'm sure that would go over well." She could just imagine their reaction. Especially when she got to the part where she stood by and watched them die. Her heart twisted so hard in her chest she gasped in pain. They'd blame her. Of course, they would. "They wouldn't let me on the Quest."

"You don't get ahold of yourself," Dwalin said flatly, "you won't be going anyway. Ring or no ring."

Bilba frowned in surprise. "You know?"

"Ran into Gandalf." He studied her for a few minutes. "I should have been there."

"You'd have just died alongside me." Bilba muttered. She let her eyes slide shut again, braced her hands against the floor and pressed upward as if the action would somehow allow her to get a deep breath. "How did you get back here, anyway?"

"Fell asleep," he said, voice flat. "Suddenly found myself standing on the road. Figured it was a dream at first."

She opened her eyes and locked them with his. "If it weren't for the ring, would you let me go?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Could I have stopped you?"

"Probably not," she got out through clenched teeth. It was proof of how selfish she still was, and he knew it. Too selfish to risk her life saving the other half of her heart, too selfish to stand by and let others fix things where she hadn't...couldn't.

"Akul Kurf."

Bilba blinked in surprise at the title, given to her by the orc that had taken over after Azog and Bolg's deaths. Loosely translated, the name meant Ice Bitch, and it had been apt for decades, right up until that morning when everything had been turned upside down. It felt like those early days all over again, when everything had been twisted and turned inside out.

"Is that how you've been dealing with it?" she asked. "Shutting it all out?" He was certainly doing that now. Dwalin was always considered so stoic, like a rock, but Bilba knew he was as flesh and blood as anybody else. He'd cried after Thorin and the boys, and again after Balin.  

Cried, and then locked it away the same as her, had possibly pushed it even deeper than she had. He'd become cold for a long time, near brutal in how he fought, harsh and biting in his interactions.

They'd actively sought out fights with orcs and goblins in those early days, seeking vengeance in the futile hope that it would somehow absolve them of the near soul crushing guilt. Dwalin liked to claim she was the one with the death wish, but he'd fought in a blind, near berserker rage. He'd wade into every battle as if it were his last, as if he prayed it was his last, and would come out with his weapons almost black with the blood and ichor of his enemies.

She hadn't been the only one given a title. She had been Akul Kurf.

Dwalin had been Vadok.

Death.

Bilba had always been mildly insulted by that. He got to be Death, and she got to be the hobbit with the bad attitude.  

Her eyes were still locked with his and, slowly, she could feel herself starting to calm. Her heartrate slowed, and her lungs finally released and allowed her to start drawing in deeper draughts of air. The trembling in her body eased, and the temperature didn't seem quite as low anymore.

A thought occurred, and Bilba surprised herself by chuckling. At Dwalin's questioning look, she said, "Maybe this time around you'll get to be Akul Kurf and I can be Vadok."

He snorted. "You're assuming Gurag is even old enough to be a--" He paused with a frown and then conceded, "Yeah, with our luck, he probably is."

"Probably." Bilba eased back down to a fully seated position and rolled her shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension. She felt drained and relaxed against the wall.

From outside the bathroom, and her room, the sound of multiple voices came through and she let out a sigh. "Sounds like the rest of them are here."

Dwalin grunted. "Probably questioning why their host is holed up inside her bedroom with one of the guests."

Bilba let out a sharp bark of laughter that was only slightly edged in hysteria. "I doubt they think I dragged you off to knock boots before dinner, Dwalin, and if they do they're idiots. Hospitality clearly demands I wait until _after_ dinner for such things."

He smirked and then carefully got himself to his feet. He took a few steps forward and held a hand down toward her. Bilba glowered but reached up to grasp his forearm and allowed him to haul her to her feet.

"You gonna be all right?" Dwalin asked.

"No," Bilba confessed, "but when has that ever mattered?"

He shrugged. "Fair enough." He strode easily past her, idly clapping her on the shoulder as he did. "Might want to run a few laps after dinner," he called as he reached to her door. "Else the orcs might name you Dobat."

Weak, Bilba translated automatically, and sneered at his back. "You wouldn't be saying that if I had a knife."

He laughed as he headed out the door. "With that muscle tone, can you even lift one?"

The door shut before she could respond, leaving her alone. Bilba made a mental note to throw a knife at him later, and then let out a breath and walked back into her bathroom.

A glance in the mirror confirmed her hair looked as awful as she'd thought it would, and that the pain and puffy feeling in her face came from a spectacular black eye courtesy of the idiots in Bree. Dwalin was so used to her propensity for finding trouble he hadn't even commented on it.

They'd think her unstable when they saw her. Thorin hadn't reacted too harshly, but he'd had other things on his mind. The rest of the Company would simply be confronted with her, exactly the way she was.

Which was nothing at all like she had been.

The last time she'd already been _so embarrassed. Thanks to Gandalf's lack of warning she'd had no time to clean, put on her best dress, do her hair or, you know, **make dinner**._

_She'd cornered the wizard later, once the others had settled down and she'd been given a moment to breathe._

_"You made me look entirely rude, Gandalf," she scolded, wagging a finger at the wizard where he sat in her father's armchair. "My parents would be mortified if they were still here."_

_"Are you quite sure of that?" Gandalf had replied, amused. "I feel your mother might have quite enjoyed it."_

Bilba had been offended to have him behave as if he'd known her mother better than she had but, on reflection, he probably had. Her mother had always been running off on adventures with him, only to return days, if not a week or two later, flushed and excited and filled with tales of all she'd seen and done while gone.

She'd invited Bilba along a time or two, but she'd always declined, too afraid of what lay beyond her front door to venture out. The Quest had been the first time anyone had asked her on an adventure since her mother's death and maybe, in some small way, she'd done it for the other woman. A way to honor her memory and say yes, in death, to what she'd always said no to in life.

Or maybe she'd done it for herself.

Her mother had always filled Bag End with visitors upon her return, the perfect hostess who served tea and then provided the entertainment as well. Bilba well remembered how her mother could bring total silence to a room filled with people, each of them spellbound and hanging upon her every word.

Bag End would never be filled again afterwards. The doors had been closed and locked, and not opened again for visitors until Dwalin had beat upon her door to demand entrance.

Bilba sighed. Her story had certainly not turned out anything like her mother's had. Whereas Belladonna’s were always heroic and exciting, Bilba's held nothing but tragedy and her own cowardice.  

Cowardice that had ended the life of the one person she'd loved more than anything else in the world. The one person who'd protected her, looked after her and lifted her up, sometimes literally, when she needed it.

And in return, at the one moment when he'd needed her in turn?

She'd let him down.

Failed, utterly. That was the long and short of it, no matter what Dwalin or anyone else said.

_"Less panic, more me having to try and explain why you tackled the Crown Prince."_

Bilba shook her head. She was supposed to tackle him when he didn't remember? Had no idea how she'd betrayed him?

How she'd failed him.

She wouldn't do that to him. She might have been too selfish to save him the first time, and she was certainly too selfish to stay away from the Quest the second time, ring or no ring.

But she wasn't so selfish as to pursue someone who couldn't even remember that he should hate her.

Who had no memory of the fact that she'd stood by and let him die, or that she'd personally killed the woman she'd once been.

The woman he'd loved.

In her mirror, Bilba watched as her expression cooled and her eyes slowly hardened. The emotions swirling inside her stilled and emptiness settled within her like an old friend being welcomed home.

"Fili," she whispered.

The word was like a razor, and she could swear she almost felt it slicing her throat as it rose, could almost taste the metallic tang of blood as it slid over her tongue.

"Fili," she said again, louder this time, and her hands clenched into fists, so tight she felt the skin of her palms burst beneath her fingernails, sending sharp, burning tendrils of pain flying along her palms.

It was all just a dream, she told herself firmly. A dead lover in someone else's tale. Someone else's tragedy.

Her One was dead, and so was the one he'd loved.  

She raised her chin and turned her back from the mirror. A familiar coldness spread through her, ice building at the base of her spine and slowly slipping into her veins, rushing through her bloodstream until, by the time she reached her bedroom door, she was as cold as Fili had been when they'd brought him off the battlefield.

As cold as she'd been every day since.

Akul Kurf indeed.

***

Dwalin sat quietly in a seat and watched the Company. He felt strangely detached, set apart as if he were a stranger accidentally sat at the wrong table.

He hadn't spoken to most of them in decades.

His eyes found Balin and he scowled, still unsure of how he felt about seeing his brother again. Part of him had wanted to hug the other dwarf, while the other half wanted to punch him and demand to know what he'd been thinking.

"Is our host all right?"

Thorin's voice broke into his thoughts and Dwalin dragged himself back into the present to nod at him. "She's fine."

Thorin nodded, but his eyes continued to study him. "You two share a history."

Dwalin shrugged. He'd forgotten how damn perceptive Thorin could be.

Thorin shifted as, on his other side, Fili leaned over to say something to him. Dwalin watched him, before going to Kili next to him, and then back to Thorin once more.

He'd also forgotten just how deep Thorin's voice was, how bright Fili's eyes got when he was excited about something, how easily Kili smiled at the slightest thing. Further down his brother nodded along to something Bifur was saying, the two animated and lively while, further still, Nori gestured wildly to Ori, who stared back with all the hero worship a younger brother could scrounge up for their elder sibling.

A little over half the people at this table had been dead the day before. Of those left, Bombur had been in poor health and Dori...Dori had been but a shadow of the dwarf he'd been before he'd lost both his brothers.

Gloin had returned to his family in Ered Luin and never visited Erebor again, while Bofur had simply...left one day, never to be seen or heard from again.

Erebor might have been retaken, but it had been at the cost of those who'd fought to reclaim her. Thorin, Fili and Kili had fallen while the rest had simply been lost. There had been no room for them in Erebor. Dain had brought his own guard, his own councilors and nobles with him. There was no place for them, and few who desired them there. Their loyalty was to Thorin and, as much as Dain tried to make a place for them, there was little he could do against his entire court.

And so there was nothing left; no place to go, no land left to be reclaimed, no more wars still to be fought. 

All that was left was for them to decide what, if anything, they could cling to until, and if, they found where it was they belonged in a world that had passed them by.

For Dwalin, son of Fundin, that thing had been the knowledge that others needed him to keep going.

That _Bilba_ needed him to keep going.

That thought, and that alone, had been all that had kept him from throwing himself from the top of Ravenhill the day he'd failed his king, been too slow to reach him, too preoccupied with goddamn goblin mercenaries of all things to be there while his shield brother bled out in the snow and ice.

Bilba had been there, sitting quietly by Thorin's side.

It was clear she'd been crying before, but not then. She'd simply been sitting, staring out into the distance, the only movement a few loose tendrils of hair as the wind had lifted them.

Dwalin could still feel the crushing grief that had frozen him in place, standing over his best friend, knowing the two of them had not fallen in battle together as they should have.

The others had arrived slowly, some crashing to their knees in grief, others supporting one another. Through it all, Dwalin had stayed apart, precisely where he was.

No one had questioned him, asked him how it was Thorin was dead and he was not, but it had been there just the same. He'd seen it in their eyes, felt it in their words. He'd been set apart from that day onward, a part of the Company and yet not.

Bilba was the only one who'd never blamed him, who'd trusted him as much as she ever had. When he'd moved to lift Thorin's corpse there had been cries of dissent, arguments over the best way to move him, loud voices raised from every direction, save one.

When he'd knelt, Bilba had quietly moved to stand behind him, waiting in silence.

Slowly, the others had fallen silent in turn, and no one had spoken as Dwalin had lifted Thorin, armor and all, and turned back toward the cursed tower where Azog had commanded his army.

It had been a solemn procession back, broken only by the discovery that Thorin and Fili had not been the only Durins to fall.

Kili, his eyes open and fixed, staring upwards at a sky he could no longer see. The elf woman, Tauriel, had been kneeling beside him, gripping his hand in hers. The lost look in her eyes had so perfectly matched the one in Bilba's that Dwalin had instinctively turned to look at her.

She'd vanished, and no one had to ask where she'd gone.

There had been no time, in the heat of battle, to go to where the Crown Prince of Erebor had fallen, and no need.

There was no question the thrust of Azog's sword had delivered a mortal blow, and what little chance there may have been was ended instantly when his body had impacted the rocks at the base of the tower.

All of them had known it, and Dwalin had known also that, to his dying day, he would never forget the look in Thorin's eyes as he'd watched his nephew die. Would forever hear Kili and Bilba screaming Would forever recall the look of fear in Fili's eyes, the short, sharp intake of breath as the sword had passed through him.

Would forever recall the exact moment his own heart had shattered into a million pieces.

"Take him," he'd ordered, and hands had immediately come and relieved him of his burden. He'd nodded toward Kili's body and then at a few of the other members of the Company. He could no longer remember which ones, no longer cared. "Help me with the princes."

He'd gone then and, as expected, Bilba was where he'd known she'd be. Unlike Tauriel, she'd been stretched out alongside Fili, head and arm resting on his chest, either unseeing or uncaring of the blood slowly soaking into her hair and clothing.

She hadn't reacted when he'd spoken to her.

When he'd pulled her up, she'd fought him.

When she'd realized she couldn't break free, she'd started screaming. Harsh guttural sounds that had been ripped out of her more than released, torn from some place deep inside and he knew immediately that the wounds being left in their wake would never heal.

She'd taken a mortal blow alongside her One, and the person he carried down from the hill that day was not the same one who'd come up.

It was for that reason he was able to keep going after Ravenhill. Bore the glances, the mutterings from nobles come from the Iron Hills. Fili would have wanted it but, beyond that, _he_ wanted it. Wanted someone to still need him, to look at him as if they weren't forever questioning why he was alive when his king was not.

As if it wasn't a question he constantly asked himself.

The funeral had nearly killed Bilba, and it had quickly become clear that staying in Erebor would. He'd taken her home only to find that, in her absence, her relations had picked over her home like maggots crawling about a corpse, stripping it of everything even remotely of value and leaving nothing but bones behind.

She'd stood in the center of her parlor, debris and trash tangled about her feet, the house just as empty as she was and he'd realized in that instant that, were he to walk out, she would never leave again. Whatever survived, if anything did, would be but a shadow haunting the halls of its own crypt.

So he'd taken her with him, and he'd goaded her and pushed her because it was the only thing that got any sort of reaction. He'd taught her to fight because it gave her an outlet for the anger that had come later, went after orcs in the hope it would help her find some semblance of peace.

It hadn't, but keeping her going had kept him going, right up until the day he'd realized what he was doing wasn't helping either one of them. He'd made a choice and watched her faith and trust in him crumble before his eyes.

And now? Now he had no idea. Gandalf claimed she was expected to save the world, and he was meant to help her. Anything else was a distraction, the wizard had explained. It was important to ignore it and look at the bigger picture.

Dwalin's response to that had been descriptive, and he knew from the resigned look in Gandalf's eyes that Bilba's reply had probably been similar.

Dwalin had tried looking at the bigger picture once, and only once.

He'd believed he was doing the right thing, and quickly found out he'd never been so wrong.

So screw the damn ring, and the whole “fate of Middle Earth” crap Gandalf was trying to feed him, and had the audacity to try and feed Bilba.

Bilba, Thorin, Fili, Kili.

He'd failed them all once.

He wasn't failing them again.

He was Vadok.

Aule help anyone who stood in his way.


	10. Chapter 10

Bilba leaned against her kitchen's doorframe, one foot propped on the wood behind her, arms tightly crossed. Her head was resting back against the wood behind her, eyes steadily fixed on the worn frame on the other side of the door.

She couldn't look at him.

It had been one thing to stand in front of her mirror and force herself to say his name. It was another thing entirely to have him physically _there_ and have a barrier every bit as strong as death fixed between them.

He didn't know her and didn't care enough to try. Why should he? She rated as little more than an innkeeper or shop owner to him. Just one more in a long litany of people everyone dealt with daily as a necessity of life, there and forgotten again just as quickly. Dealt with and forgotten just as quickly. She'd seen it in the eyes of the others as Gandalf had introduced her, felt it in their fake smiles and overly polite greetings.

She'd been surprised at how much it had hurt.

She'd known right then and there she couldn't handle seeing or feeling or hearing it from him. She kept trying to tell herself it wasn't him, not really, but her heart seemed in no mood to listen.

Which is why when it had come time for introductions she'd greeted Kili and then turned away before Gandalf could even say _his_ name. She hadn't even looked at him. It was the utter height of rudeness, and there was no way to cover it, but she didn't care.

Not when her jaw was clenched so tight it hurt and her hands were in white knuckled fists behind her back. She wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to run and throw her arms around him and tell him how much she'd missed him.

She couldn't do either. Especially not the latter because he would simply push her back to arms' length, give her a look of confusion and ask, "Do I know you?"

And that should be what she wanted, and it was. It had to be that way for several reasons, not the least of which was she was nowhere and nothing like the girl he'd once loved, and it was a good thing for it to be this way, it _was_.

And yet here she was struggling to not fall apart entirely anyway.

It was like he was a broken mirror, and everything about him was a shard. His voice, his laughter, the barest glimpse of him when she failed to look away fast enough, all of it razor sharp. All of it slicing easily through barriers she'd spent most of a lifetime building.

"One would think our burglar would at least feign interest in our business," Thorin's voice broke in suddenly. "Perhaps we were mistaken in our choice of her."

"Your only mistake is in thinking you had a choice," Bilba retorted sharply. She was exhausted, and her nerves had been pushed past their breaking point an hour ago. She had nothing left to give. "I don't see a line of people waiting to volunteer for your little suicide mission." She allowed her head to roll to the side until her eyes found Thorin. Only Thorin, no one else at the table and certainly no one at the far end. "As for the rest, you want to retake your mountain and hope the promise of immense riches will be enough for everyone to forget the massive dragon standing between you and your goal."

From next to Thorin, Dwalin snorted. " _So your plan for winning him over is to piss him off?"_

He spoke in Hobbitish, a lost language for the most part, but one she'd revived for the two of them. Mainly so they could talk about idiots in pubs without them understanding what was being said.

She raised an eyebrow at him. _"Says the one speaking in a language he doesn't understand."_

 _"He trusts me,"_ Dwalin said, smug.

"If you two are finished?" Thorin interrupted. He tapped his fingers idly on the table he spoke, beating out some tune only he knew.

Bilba rolled her eyes, pushed off the frame and headed toward the door. The other dwarves at the table were silent, which meant they were watching her, which meant _he_ was watching her and she swore she could almost feel his eyes boring into the skin between her shoulder blades. "I'm going for a run."

"While you're gone I'll decide if you're needed," Thorin called out.

Bilba almost, _almost_ laughed. Instead she simply paused just before the door. "You need me." She turned her head until she was almost, but not quite looking back. If she looked back it'd be to the entire room of them and she knew where her eyes would naturally be drawn. "Leave the contract out. I'll sign it when I get back."

And, with that, she walked out.

Hopefully, by the time she returned, she'd be able to look at her One without feeling like she was being stabbed in the heart. If not, this was going to be an even longer journey than she'd first thought.

***

"Is she always like that?"

Dwalin glanced over at Kili and was struck again by how young the lad was. Fili and Kili were both adults, had been for decades by the time they died, but somewhere along the way he'd simply forgotten the fact that they'd both been _young_.

Thorin had sent them out as soon as they'd turned thirty, off to escort caravans, find work as traveling blacksmiths and anything else they could do to support both themselves and those left behind in Ered Luin. They'd had to grow up fast, and even now were being treated as if they were far older, and more experienced, than they were. Most of the dwarves present at the table had been present for the fall of Erebor or had fought at Azanulbizar. Quite a few, himself included, had witnessed both events.

Fili and Kili hadn't even been born, for either tragedy. Yet here they both were, fighting for a home they'd never seen, with at least one of them at risk of being murdered by an enemy made sixty years before he drew his first breath.

"No," he said now, mildly. "Usually, she's worse."

Kili's eyes widened in horror. Beside him, Fili was staring down at the cup he was clutching in both hands as if the liquid inside were imparting some great secret. He'd been strangely quiet since his arrival not that Dwalin was finding himself the greatest judge of what constituted strange behavior for any member of the Company.

They were all different. Nori was more nervous than he remembered, Balin world-wearier, and Ori --- Mahal, whose idea had _that_ been? Fili and Kili were one thing, young but at least trained, experienced warriors. Ori had barely been out of Ered Luin, let alone had fighting experience. He'd brought a _slingshot_ as a weapon for Durin's sake, and not a good one. It'd barely net him a rabbit, let alone an orc or other enemy. By all rights he should still be hanging onto his mother's apron strings, not gallivanting off to face down a dragon.

Kili leaned over to say something to Fili, a concerned look on his face. The lad, in turn, continued to stare into his mug and Dwalin conceded that he probably wasn't wrong in his initial assessment. They _were_ all different, but Fili most of all.

He could guess why and given how committed Bilba was to being a self-destructive idiot, it could only mean untold hours of fun for him.  

He needed a damn drink.

Thorin started to talk again, only to stop as Dwalin gripped the edges of the table and pushed back from it. "What are you doing?"

"None of us would be here if they didn't already know the reason why," he growled. It was a good thing Bilba had already left. The last thing he needed was for her to hear him agreeing with anything she'd said. She'd never let him live it down.

Gandalf had yet to produce the key and map, but no one needed him there for that, particularly when the wizard was fully aware of his thoughts on the subject. Gandalf could easily have given both items to Thorin before the meeting with the dwarf lords, albeit to far less dramatic effect. Dwalin had often wondered if the lords might have been more willing to listen had Thorin come to them with map and key in hand and a plan to go along with it, rather than a half-baked hope and a dream.

"I'll be in the other room if you need me." He grabbed a bottle of wine off the table, gave Thorin a pointed look that strongly suggested he _not_ be needed, and left the room.

The fireplace already had a steady fire going so he dragged one of the armchairs nearer to it, plopped down and set the bottle on the small table between it and a second armchair. Bilba's parents had often sat here, as he recalled, and read together in the evenings.

He settled in, closed his eyes, and allowed his body to relax into the cushions. It was a strange thing; his body was young and healthy again, but it was taking him a moment to convince his mind. He had plenty of energy and the aches and pains that had once plagued him were long gone, but his mind still believed he needed to rest. It had also been hard to not groan in relief when he'd sat despite there not being anything aching that he needed relief from.

He must have dozed off because when next he became aware it was to Thorin settling into the other seat. He put a pair of glasses on the table between them and relaxed back into the cushions in much the same way Dwalin had.

"You forgot a glass," he said, nodding at them.

"That I did," Dwalin reached over, popped open the wine and poured two glasses. He handed one to Thorin, and the two of them simultaneously tilted their glasses at each other in a semblance of a toast before drinking.

"I've never heard you speak about her," Thorin said after a moment, setting his glass back down.

Dwalin chuckled. "You don't know everything about me."

Thorin was one of his best friends, but there had been entire years that had passed where they either didn't see each other at all, or only met a time or two.

Thorin was more willing to move into a town and set up shop as the local blacksmith for months at a time, while Dwalin had always been more of a wanderer. He started to get testy if required to sit still too long and the thought of settling in one place made his skin crawl.

"Clearly." Thorin idly moved the glass in his hand, causing the wind to swirl about. "What language was that?"

"Hobbitish," Dwalin replied. "Few of them speak it anymore."

He didn't offer to explain what he'd said, and Thorin didn't ask. As he'd told Bilba, Thorin trusted him. As to how far he could push that trust, well, assuming Bilba didn't do anything _too_ idiotic it should be fine.

He considered that a moment, then sighed and poured himself more wine.

Thorin nodded slowly and studied the fire. "The two of you are lovers then?"

Dwalin snorted at the absurdity of that idea. "Durin's beard, it'd be a toss up over which of us killed the other first." He snorted softly to himself. "Nori would probably start a betting pool."

"Would he?" Thorin asked in surprise.

Dwalin's smile faded just a little. Of course, this wasn't the same Thorin, not yet anyway. Most of the members of the Company, outside of Thorin and the lads, were little more than strangers, or acquaintances to him. "Seems like something he'd do."

Thorin seemed to accept that because his only response was to set his glass beside Dwalin's on the table and lean back in the chair again.

"It's complicated," Dwalin offered after a few minutes. Bilba had spent the day with Thorin and hadn't told him much of anything about herself, which meant Dwalin had no right to do it for her. "She's a bit rough around the edges, but you'll never find a more willing heart, or a more loyal one."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "That's strong praise coming from you."

Dwalin shrugged. Beside him, Thorin fell silent, apparently content to watch the firelight, and Dwalin did the same. There was still much to be dealt with, and they'd have to work out what to do about that ring at some point, but none of it had to be handled this very second.

For now, he decided, he'd sit here and enjoy something he hadn't been able to for decades.

Spending time with his best friend.

***

Bilba let herself into a darkened kitchen several hours later. She'd stayed out late on purpose, hoping to return long after everyone had fallen asleep.

She run herself into the ground, until she was drenched with sweat and the only emotion she felt was despair at having to make it home before she could go to sleep. The table was cleared off, she noted, and all the dishes and pots and pans scrubbed and either put away or piled neatly on the countertop. Lobelia could handle returning them to their proper owners. Bilba wouldn't know where to begin.

She stopped at the sink to grab a glass of water and leaned against the countertop to drink it. The house was quiet. So quiet that, if she didn't know better, she'd think it empty.

A part of her wished it was.

She finished the water and turned to rinse out the glass only to freeze at the sound of a light footfall behind her.

Don't be him, her mind whispered. Please don't be him. She was nowhere near ready to have him look through her, would probably never be ready to have him address her in that flat, fake interested way he used when talking to strangers.

She set the glass carefully on the counter and turned. Immediately the near viselike grip on her heart eased at the sight of Dori standing on the other side of the kitchen.

It was so strange to see him standing there, tall and strong and full of life. She'd never realized how much of Dori was tied up in his brothers, until he'd lost them.

He'd taken the road she would have gone down had Dwalin not been there to drag her out. Lost, wandering in an empty house. The last time she'd seen him the dwarf had been near skeletal, his clothes tattered and torn, beard and hair unkempt. He'd simply sat in a chair and rocked, mumbling words that made sense only to him, fingers working in his lap at something only he could see.

"I thought I might offer my services," he said now, eyes clear and hands still at his sides.

"Your services?" Bilba repeated blankly.

"For your hair." Dori gestured at it and, for a second, looked almost pained. "Your last stylist was clearly having a... rough day and you must have been far too kind to mention it. I can help."

Bilba fought a smile. He was trying so hard to be diplomatic, but his fingers were twitching as if he were holding scissors. Her eyes went to the elaborate braids in his hair. She'd always been aware that he took more care in his braids and clothing than the others, and he was always quick with a sewing kit when any repairs needed to be done.

Her failure with her hair must be giving him an outright nervous tic.

She inclined her head slightly. "It doesn't matter to me, but I'll warn you that anything you do will probably be beyond my ability to maintain."

"Well, then it's a good thing you'll have me on this trip." Dori grabbed a lantern she'd had sitting on her table, near the contract she'd requested be left out she belatedly noted and gestured out the doorway. Bilba obediently followed him down the hall and into one of the bathrooms.

Once there he set the lantern on the counter, turned the flame up, and closed the door to keep the light from waking anyone up. He had her wet her hair in the sink before sitting on a stool she usually used as a plant stand, produced scissors from somewhere, and went to work.

Bilba watched him in the mirror. He had a light in his eyes and hummed happily under his breath as he picked up strands seemingly at random and snipped off bits and pieces here and there.

Bilba tried to imagine him doing similar things with Nori and Ori. Their parents had died in a mine collapse when the two had been quite young, leaving Dori to raise them by himself. How many times, she wondered, had one of them sat in a chair, the other probably waiting his turn, as Dori meticulously trimmed and braided their hair? How many late nights had there been when Dori dragged himself home from work only to stay up late fixing tears or adjusting clothing because there was no money to buy replacements?

"There." Dori stepped away after what felt like a few minutes but had probably been longer. He looked quite pleased with himself. "Much better."

Bilba blinked in surprise, focused on her own reflection, and felt her mouth drop open.

She looked radically different. Whereas she had simply left her hair a chopped, uneven mess, Dori had taken the exact same thing and somehow made it look deliberate. It was longer on the front left side, creating kind of a side bang look that curved along that side of her face and down to her jawline. It hung partly over her eye, but not so much that it'd obscure her vision when she needed to fight.

"It's called a crop cut," Dori said as she lifted a hand to lightly run her fingers through the strands, noting he'd somehow managed to create actual layers despite having so little to work with. "Female warriors use it sometimes. It keeps it out of their way, and out of an enemy's hands, and they don't have to keep it bound up all the time."

"I love it," Bilba said softly. She hadn't had a truly decent hairstyle in ages, not since she'd sliced off the waist length mass she'd used to have and that had been decades upon decades ago. She hadn't thought she would care all that much, but apparently she did. She pushed off the chair and turned to face him. "Thank you."

He inclined his head. "Of course."

He left and Bilba took a few more minutes to study her new look in the mirror.

A memory rose unbidden in her mind, Fili's hands in her hair. He'd liked to braid it, playing with different styles. Other times he'd simply loop a strand around his finger so he could release it and watch it spring away.

 _"You have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen,_ " he'd say. _"You'd be the envy of any dwarf."_

Her lower lip trembled, and her vision turned watery. Hair was very important to dwarves. It was one of the reasons he'd been so drawn to her.

It certainly wouldn't be a factor now, no matter the magic Dori had managed to work.

She swallowed past a sudden rock in her throat and dropped her hand to her side. It was fine, she told herself firmly. It was --

She cut off the line of thought as the moisture in her eyes threatened to spill over. Instead she scrubbed one hand roughly over her face. Her bruised eye and cheekbone protested, and she used the pain to ground herself before stalking to the kitchen and the backdoor.

She was still exhausted but could tell she wouldn't be sleeping no matter how badly her body needed it. At best she'd end up with nightmares and she doubted anyone wanted to be awakened by her screaming. Instead she went out and found the worn path that led to the top of the hill under which Bag End sat.

It afforded a truly spectacular view of the Shire, currently bathed in the silvery light of a full moon. The night was cool, but not enough to be chilly so she settled down cross legged on the grass to watch the night pass by.

Or, at least, that's what her intention was.

Movement caught her eye and she frowned at several pale shapes in the fields just beyond the hedges that bordered Hobbiton proper. What in the world was that?

She rose into a low crouch, not wanting to present a target on a hill just in case and crept to the very edge of the hilltop. She lowered herself until she was lying flat and studied the shapes as they moved about.

Orcs, her mind informed her. Those were orcs. She might not be able to see them clearly but their movements, the way they carried themselves and skulked about...orcs.

The mark on her back began to throb, sending pulses of pain through her lower back as she worked her way to the back of the hill once again.

As soon as she was down she headed inside and straight to her father's office. There were two forms sound asleep in there, one on the couch and one on the floor but she didn't bother to be quiet. She imagined they'd both awakened the instant her foot crossed the threshold.

She went to the bookcase at the rear of the room and lifted down the spyglass resting on a stand on the third shelf. Adrenaline had already begun to thrum through her as she turned to head back out again.

"What is it?" Dwalin asked from behind her.

"Nothing that can't be killed by a few sharp blows from an axe," Bilba said with probably a little too much cheer in her voice. Killing orcs was straightforward. No stress or worry or anxiety. No trying to plot out every possible avenue or allow for every eventuality. Just kill them before they killed you.

She made it back to the top of the hill, laid down and crawled to the front again. As she settled down she wasn't surprised to have both Thorin and Dwalin join her, one on either side of her. She'd have probably had to ask Dwalin for help anyway, and that would bring Thorin because the two had always been together when he'd been alive.

And because Thorin was damn nosey and couldn't just go back to sleep and let her and Dwalin handle things.  

Bilba peered through the spyglass and, as she suspected, orcs indeed. A pack of them it looked like, in the process of trying, and failing to set up some sort of camp on the border.

Perhaps this day was going to involve some fun after all.

She handed the glass over to Dwalin. "Care to do some late night, or possibly early morning, orc hunting?"

He grunted, peering through the glass before reaching over her body to give it to Thorin.

Bilba frowned in annoyance. "He doesn't need to be involved. You and I can do it."

Thorin gave her a look she could practically feel. "You don't think I'm capable of killing a few orcs?"

"I think it's rude to ask one's guest to fight for them," Bilba corrected in irritation. "It's simply not done."

"You asked Dwalin," Thorin pointed out.

Bilba grabbed for the spyglass and, only half paying attention, responded, "Dwalin's not a guest."

Dwalin grabbed the spyglass before she could get it. "You're in no shape to fight yet. We'll handle it."

They both started to move back toward Bag End's kitchen door and, for a few seconds, Bilba simply stared after them in shock. Had he really just --

Yes. Yes, he had.

"Asshole," she muttered, before scrambling after them. See if she woke him up the next time an orc pack started sneaking about. She didn't have to be in top shape to fight orcs, and Dwalin knew it.

All you needed was a sharp sword, or a quiver full of arrows and a good bow, and it just so happened she had both in great quantity.

She'd show him.


	11. Chapter 11

Bilba wished she could travel back in time again. Not very far, just enough to get her past the moment where she'd made the truly idiotic decision to alert _anyone_ else to the presence of orcs in the Shire.

Not even a full _day_ , and she'd already screwed up. At this rate, she'd have gotten everyone killed before they made it to Bree.

"We don't need any help," she hissed at Dwalin, for the fourth or fifth time.

He scowled; arms crossed in that way he got when he'd decided to be stubborn. She'd used to think Thorin was stubborn, but that was only because she hadn't known Dwalin that well.

They were arguing in the foyer of Bag End, door open and path waiting outside but, no, they couldn't leave because _Thorin¸_ usually the king of reckless himself, decided they needed _reinforcements._

Her stomach churned and she let out a hiss of annoyance. Her arms were crossed, fingers digging into her forearms as she struggled to contain the almost manic energy vibrating just under her skin.

She needed to do... _something._

Her foot tapped an erratic beat on the floor as she struggled to keep from pacing.

The sound of a low voice came from the living room, slicing through her like a knife. She felt her eyes go wide and she went completely still as a, by then, all too familiar hollowness yawned wide inside her. Her head tilted of its own accord toward his voice like a compass needle drawn north against its will, eyes flickering toward the darkness of the room.

The world seemed to diminish around her, fading until the only thing she could hear was the thud of her own heartbeat.

The voice came again, louder and closer, and something inside her...shifted.

Liquid cold rushed through her veins and her emotions settled, sinking slowly under an ocean of darkness and silence.

"Screw this," she whispered.

She turned toward the door, only to stop as Dwalin's hand closed around her upper arm.

She kept her eyes focused outside. "Let me go, Vadok."

His eyes narrowed. She'd never called him by the title before he left, and rarely did so after. It was an annoying tell she'd struggled, and failed, to eliminate. "We should wait for the others."

"Why?" Bilba demanded, finally looking at him. "You're too scared to face a couple of orcs on your own?" She tried to wrench her arm free but, even at her strongest, she'd never come anywhere close to where Dwalin was. A body had its limits and a male dwarf would always be stronger than a female hobbit, no matter how hard she trained.

He sighed. "What happened to you being the levelheaded one?"

She stepped closer to him, lowered her voice, and switched to Hobbitsh. " _This is not supposed to happen. We're endangering them before we even get started."_

"You can't protect them from everything," Dwalin argued. "Are you going to panic over a stubbed toe?"

"I hardly think an orc pack counts as a stubbed toe," Bilba shot back. She wrenched again and this time Dwalin released her, but only because he knew she'd dislocate her own arm if he didn't. Being weaker didn't mean she had to submit to him, just figure out ways to outwit him.

She turned to the pile of weapons near her door, hesitating for only a moment at the sight of a familiar pair of swords, and grabbed the bow and quiver of arrows resting against the wall.

"He'll probably want those," Dwalin said dryly.

"He's got a sword," Bilba said with a grimace. He'd been buried with it. Bilba had always thought it an idiotic decision. His primary weapon had been the bow. He should have been buried with that, not the weapon that had failed him in the end.

She set the quiver on her belt, mentally kicking herself for not picking up her own set in Bree. She was good with the bow and arrow and could easily use it to help build her arm strength to hold a sword again. She was just so used to the dual swords that the thought had never even occurred to her.

Second mistake of the day.

She gave one more resentful look at the swords she'd used for decades and now probably couldn't even lift properly and then stalked out into the cool night air. She was only mildly surprised when Dwalin followed her. Once out of her gate, they ducked across the lane and crouched low in the grass on the other side. Hobbiton prided itself on being close to nature, which meant plenty of long grass, bushes and trees to duck behind.

The orcs had been kind enough to light a small fire, which was helpful since not _everyone_ had the ability to see in the dark, and she kept her eyes on it as she slowly crept closer. The shapes became clearer, separating into individuals.

Dwalin put a hand on her arm. "Wait," he ordered lowly.

Bilba narrowed her eyes. "Since when do I take orders from you?"

He nodded forward. "You get one or two of them and the rest scatter. It'll be ten times harder to track them all down."

The barest hint of movement caught her eye and Bilba noted Thorin nearby, creeping up on the orc pack, sword in hand. Once she'd picked him out it was easy, or easier at least, to see the rest of the Company, slowly moving through the grass to surround the orcs.

"Well this just keeps getting better and better," she muttered. "Let's just bring the entire Company out, why don't we?”

Dwalin pushed up to a low crouch, one hand resting on the ground, the other gripping his sword. "Since you're so keen on the bow, stay here and pick off any stragglers."

"Yes, _Father_ ," Bilba mocked.

Dwalin smirked, shook his head, and then moved off to join the others. Bilba sighed in resignation and settled down on one knee. She nocked an arrow to the string of the bow and then, in the most frustrating part of any fight, waited.

It didn't take long.

She didn't even see the signal. One second there was nothing, and the next shadows were rising from the darkness.

Bilba rose as well and raised the bow. She sighted down the length of the arrow and did her best to block out everything but the orcs. The world around her fell away once more until all she could hear was the rush of air as she let out a breath and the nearly inaudible thwip of the arrow as it left the string.

She barely watched as it sank into the throat of an orc before she was stringing a second arrow and then a third. The orcs caught on to the archer in their midst after that and began trying to use the dwarves as shields between them and her. She was still able to get a few in the legs or dominant arm, though, making them easy pickings for the dwarves.

The battle was short, over almost as soon as it'd begun. The dwarves outnumbered the orcs and, with them surrounded, it ensured that none escaped to go call in their own reinforcements. The noise awoke a few of her neighbors, sending lights flickering on in windows, but no one came out to see what was going on.

Bilba would like to think it was common sense, but knew it was probably more likely that no one wanted to be seen consorting with people who had battles in the middle of the night, which was simply rude and entirely improper.

Her eyes drifted to the dirt road on her left and idly followed it until it vanished through a split in the hedge that surrounded Hobbiton, leading out into the greater Shire and world beyond. It was strangely black in that small square, repelling even the light of the half moon and stars overhead.

Something seemed to shift in the opening, and she could almost swear she saw tendrils of the dark moving inside She frowned and focused on a bit of the hedge, only to feel her stomach clench as she watched it slowly fade from view and then reappear again.

She started to step forward, toward it, only to stop with a gasp as a hand fell on her shoulder. Gandalf stared toward the hedge, expression grave.

"Why were the orcs here?" she asked.

"Do you really have to ask?" he mused without looking at her.

Bilba's eyes narrowed at the implication. "That's not possible. It hasn't even been a day." She didn't even have the damn ring yet. Not that any but a very few knew that of course. If they did they'd just run straight toward Gollum's cave and avoid her all together.

Her eyes went back to the hedge again, but it was now empty, just another spot of darkness in the night. She frowned and tried not to ignore how unsettled she'd felt. She'd understood she might have to face some different adversaries this time around, that others might remember the future and target her for that stupid ring.

She'd just expected to have more than a _day_ to get ready for it.

She glanced up at Gandalf, hoping he'd have some sort of wisdom or advice to impart. Instead he simply squeezed her shoulder and moved off.

Bilba resisted the urge to throw something at him. Her eyes flickered back to the group and she noted the dwarves were being gracious enough to dispose of the corpses and clean up the site. They easily could have just left it for the Bounders or had someone send word to the Rangers.

Mahal knew, none of her neighbors would have been able to bring themselves to do it no matter how bad the smell got. An image of Lobelia wandering past, handkerchief held to her nose and head up as she valiantly ignored the pile of rotting orcs, crossed her mind and she couldn't keep a smile from creeping on her face.

"Can I have my bow back now?"

The words, from behind her, caused her to jump in surprise. The smile vanished and her back stiffened. Not because of who spoke, but because she knew the only time she really remembered Kili being on his own was shortly before he died, and it hadn't been by choice.

Her fingers tightened on the bow until the wood creaked in her hand and she half turned, just enough to bring him into her peripheral vision. She held the bow out, and then the quiver with the remaining arrows. "It pulls to the left."

"It does not," Kili said, offended, as he took them from her. "I made it myself."

"Yeah, well you made it pulling to the left," Bilba said shortly. She made the mistake of turning her head just a little too much, and a flash of golden blond hair caught her eye.

Her heart seized in her chest so hard she flinched, and her breath was suddenly gone entirely. She clenched her jaw, and then dug the nail of a finger into her thumb, using the flare of pain as a distraction. Without another word she turned and strode toward where Dwalin and the others were getting rid of the bodies.

If she was very, very lucky, one of them would make the mistake of saying something to piss her off and she could punch them.

She really, _really_ needed to punch something.

***

"Is it just me or does she not like us?"

Fili frowned at his brother. "She doesn't like me. She at least she acknowledges you."

Kili raised an eyebrow at him. "I noticed that, but figured I was just imagining things."

"You're not." Fili's eyes followed the young woman as she dropped into a crouch next to Dwalin. He paused to listen to something she said, shot an unreadable look in their direction and then said something back to her. Whatever it was earned a sharp response before she stood up and went to help Bofur.

She never looked in their direction again.

Fili's eyes narrowed. He'd noticed that she'd ignored him when introductions had been made, and at least one or two other times after that, but it hadn't been until he'd realized she never so much as _looked_ at him the entire evening that it had really caught his attention.  

"We've never met her before, have we?" he asked Kili.

"Not that I'm aware of." Kili flashed him a grin. "You think the people around here are going to enjoy a bonfire?"

Fili grimaced. "I think they'd enjoy the alternative less."

He frowned and turned around, looking up the hill toward the house and then back again. Kili lifted his eyes from where he was examining his bow and studied him quizzically. "Problem?"

"No." Fili looked back in time to see Bofur lean in close to Bilba to say something, placing a hand on her knee to keep his balance and bringing his face within an inch or two of hers. She tilted her head to listen and he thought he saw the barest hint of a smile cross her face before she pulled away.

"Bofur better watch out," Kili said dryly. "Dwalin might kill him."

As if summoned, Dwalin turned from talking to their uncle and begin striding up the hill again. Several others joined him, their uncle having apparently decided not everyone was needed to clean up the aftermath of the fight.

As Dwalin passed him, Fili caught his eye and, under his breath, asked, "Why is she so determined to not look at me?"

Dwalin snorted. "Nope."

He then kept walking, right past them and up the hill. Kili made a mock disapproving sound as they watched him vanish. "Get a girlfriend and suddenly your loyalties switch."

Fili didn't answer. His eyes were on Bilba as she walked up the hill toward them, Bofur at her side. As they neared, her eyes almost flickered in his direction, but then she ducked her head closer to Bofur, reaching to grab his arm with both hands as she spoke to him in a low voice.

They passed just like that, and Fili turned slowly to watch as her figure slowly faded into the shadows as she approached her home. Part of him wanted her to turn around and look at him, if for only a second.

The other part of him wondered why it bothered him so much when she didn't.


	12. Chapter 12

_Bilba stood in the crypt, alone. The harsh rasp of her breath tore at her throat, and her heart thudded a rapid, staccato beat in her chest._

_It was cold._

_Not a normal sort of cold. Not the kind that held the promise of hot cocoa and a roaring fire at the end. Not the sort that brought with it the beauty of fresh snow blanketing the ground, the laughter of friends and the prospect of snowmen and sledding down steep hills. The sort of cold that brought with it the thrum of life even during its brittleness._

_This cold was almost as oppressive as the silence. It hung thick in a darkness broken only by the guttering, unearthly blue flames flickering midair above three marble slabs. It bit through the thin dress she wore, chilling her skin, and no amount of shaking or crossing her arms made any difference._

_She took a deep breath, and bit back a whimper as the foul, sickly-sweet stench of rotting flesh hit her nostrils, strong enough to make her gag_

_The room stank of death._

_Her eyes went to the slabs and the cold forms laid out upon them. The white stone around them was stained dark and there were rivulets marring the sides of the slabs. Dimly she could hear a dripping noise, slow and leisurely as if it had all the time in the world. She supposed it did._

_She swallowed, throat dry, and deliberately turned away toward the exit. She could barely see it, hidden in the shadow of the far wall._

_It was shut._

_Noise came from behind her. The rustle of clothing, and a cracking noise as of bones forced into motion after being long locked in place._

_Bilba froze. Her lungs seized, and her breathing became rapid and shallow. Her head began to pound and her body went rigid._

_"Bilba."_

_The voice was quiet, a hiss almost, and garbled as if pushed through ruined vocal cords. It was barely recognizable. Barely._

_Bilba whimpered. Breathing became even harder and she opened her mouth slightly in the hopes of bringing in more air._

_"It should have been you."_

_A hand slid over her shoulder and Bilba shut her eyes so she wouldn't have to see it. There was no way to avoid feeling it, slender, fleshless fingers with knobby bits where the individual bones connected. "I know."_

_The hand tightened, digging painfully into her shoulder. It yanked her around --_

Bilba's eyes flew open, and she lunged upright in bed, dagger already in hand and held at the ready in front of her. She panted for breath, throat burning, and swallowed against the bitter taste of acid flooding her mouth. Adrenaline began to fade, leaving her shivering, and she scowled at the cold air streaming in through her open window as if it personally offended her.

"Damn." She really should have expected that. She put the knife down and began to pick at the blankets, hopelessly twisted about her body. She was drenched in sweat, which was simply disgusting, and her brand-new hairstyle was plastered to her head.

Her mind went back to the dream and her eyes, almost of their own will, went to her bedroom door as if she could see past it and into the living room. A thread of fear ran through her, and she suddenly felt very young and very small, like a child with a monster in the closet. For the briefest, most irrational moment, she thought about calling for Dwalin...

She shook her head and the feeling dissipated. "Don't be an idiot."

She managed to free herself from the bedding finally, got up and went to stand in front of the small window. She felt tired and achy, and her stomach had finally noticed how long it had been since she'd eaten.

Outside, it was still night, but just a tad lighter as the barest hint of dawn broke through the darkness. On her first go around she'd awakened to the rays of the barely rising sun streaming through her window. The house had been empty, long so from what she recalled.

It was impressive to think, even now, of an entire Company of dwarves managing to sneak out without waking her. She'd been a heavy sleeper back then, but not _that_ heavy.

She idly linked her hands and stretched, arms over her head and back arched. She felt her shoulders and joints obediently pop and loosen.

She grabbed the oversized shirt and trousers she'd worn the day before, padded as quietly as possible from her room and went to the bathroom to bathe. As she was dressing after, her eyes caught on her reflection and she slowed at the sight of the pale, wide eyed young woman looking back.

Mahal, but she'd been young back then hadn't she? So young she'd charged out her door in a dress firm in the belief that an adventure was little more than a prolonged walk.  

The bruising on the side of her face had settled into a rather spectacular black eye, leaving her skin stretched and tight and her eye a bit puffy. Fortunately, it hadn't affected her vision. Her other eye had developed a deep, black bag under it in solidarity making her eyes appear sunken and hollow.

She gave a tsk of disgust and finished getting dressed. She might look like a child again, but she was far, far from that foolish girl who thought not having a handkerchief would be her greatest challenge on the quest to retake Erebor.

She went to the door, pulled it open, and paused at the sight of Nori leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed and what he probably thought was a charming smirk on his face.

"Why, hello there, my lady," he said, pushing off the wall and giving an exaggerated bow.

The move brought him a step forward, into her space, but before he could press whatever sort of advantage he thought he had Bilba stopped him with a palm to his chest. "Down boy."

Nori gave an exaggerated gasp and put a hand to his chest. He tried to put it over hers, but she moved it. "You wound me." He leaned in and gave her a wicked grin. "I can assure you. I'm far from a boy."

Bilba gave him a deadpan look. "And I can assure you, Master Dwarf, that you haven't come anywhere close to being wounded. Yet."

Dwalin came meandering down the hall. He looked only half awake, but still managed to cuff Nori upside the back of the head. "Knock it off, brat. You can't handle her."

Nori looked ready to protest but Dwalin made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl and the other dwarf put his hands up in surrender. "I yield. I yield. Sheesh, can't a guy flirt with a pretty lady without getting his head bit off?"

He looked at Bilba as if expecting...something, but she simply crossed her arms and stared back.

Nori gave a tragic sigh. "I must be losing my touch." He shot her one final, hopeful, look before his shoulders slumped and he slouched past her into the bathroom.

Bilba frowned at Dwalin. "He wasn't like this last time."

Dwalin studied her in silence for several seconds. "He doesn't go after the innocent," he said finally.

Bilba flinched. The words shouldn't have hurt. She knew she was radically different. She'd been naive back then. She hadn't even known, truly, just how much of a bulwark the Rangers were between the Shire and evil things that would take advantage of it. She had simply --

_"You know nothing of the world."_

Bilba blinked as the words ran through her mind, spoken long ago by Thorin, but not to her. They'd been addressed to...Fili, and Kili, after they'd made a poor joke. A joke Bilba had found funny at the time. Now, looking back at it, she thought she'd have sided with Thorin.

It was just one more layer, she realized. One more thing that separated her from that girl all those years ago.

One more thing that separated her from him.

"Of course," Dwalin continued, "last time it was also obvious from the beginning what was going on, and not even Nori's fool enough to make an enemy of the Crown Prince."

Bilba stiffened, then shot him a dark look and hissed, "Why don't you say it a little louder? I doubt they all heard you." He looked unimpressed and she crossed her arms with a huff. "You make it sound like he's terrifying. The only one mildly terrifying is Thorin and that's because he's in a perpetually bad mood."

Dwalin looked amused. "So you think. You were given allowances."

Bilba gave him a disbelieving look. "Oh, really? Funny, Thorin's 'allowances' and his 'utter disdain and contempt' look strangely alike."

Dwalin chuckled and Bilba rolled her eyes in disgust and turned away. "I'm going to head out early. You lot can catch up."

He stepped in her path. "You haven't eaten since yesterday. You'll collapse on the way, and I'll leave you lie."

"It is what you do best," Bilba said with bitterness. Dwalin had been Thorin's Captain of the Guard in Ered Luin and had the tendency to lapse into treating her like a subordinate more than an equal. She hated when he did it. She hated it even more when he did it and he was right.

"Bilba." He had that tone of voice, like he was going to confront her right there in the hall. Bilba tensed and raised her chin, perfectly happy to give as good as she got.

"Now, now, children." Balin appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and pushed between them. "Let's not fight, shall we? It's far too early in the morning for it."

Bilba's eyes met Dwalin's and a shared annoyance at being called children passed between them, particularly when it came from Lord-Let's-Retake-Moria-With-Nothing-But-Hope-And-Positive-Thinking.

Dwalin made a sound that was half huff and half disgust and then, as if a signal had been given, they both turned in lockstep and left in opposite directions, leaving Balin to stand alone in the hall and wait for Nori. Or go find another bathroom. Whatever.

A rather delicious smell was starting to drift in from the kitchen, prompting her stomach to demand satisfaction, so she obediently followed it there. She entered to see Bombur standing at the counter whipping up breakfast from the last night's leftovers.

She'd never even thought about breakfast and, in hindsight, realized the dwarves had probably gone out the first time without eating anything at all.

No wonder Thorin had been so grumpy.

Bombur had the food laid out buffet style, so Bilba grabbed a plate and loaded it with food. She could hear shuffling from the living room, and quickly headed to her back door where she bypassed a small bench in favor of settling down at the juncture where Bag End blended into the hill it was built into. She leaned against the wall, placed the plate and mug of coffee she'd grabbed on the way out beside her, draped an arm over an upturned knee and did her best to relax.

Dawn was finally breaking, though the sun hadn't yet appeared over the horizon, leaving the area still cast in heavy shadow. Bilba could hear the faint chirrup of crickets and, down toward the river, spotted a family of deer.

It was a peaceful place, the Shire. One she'd taken for granted the first time around, and no longer fit into this time. What would have happened, she wondered, had she stayed back then? Awakened to an empty house and shrugged her shoulders instead of rushing out after them? Written off whole experience off as a bump in the road rather than the start of an entirely new chapter?

Would she have been happy? Content? Or would she have spent the rest of her life regretting and wondering what if?

She sighed and allowed her head to fall back against the wall with a heavy thunk. Thinking about it was a waste of time. She'd made her choices long ago, and there was no going back. So to speak.

She took her time eating, idly watching the sky lighten. By the river, the family of deer slowly started to wander toward the woods. She could hear birds in the trees, and the faint rustle of wind in the grass.

"We rarely appreciate what we have, until we no longer do."

Gandalf sat on the bench near where she sat, pipe in hand and pensive look already firmly affixed to his face.

"Go away, Gandalf," Bilba said shortly. "It's too early to have to deal with you."

"There's still time," he said quietly. "You could choose to stay."

"Hmmm, yes," Bilba said with mock sincerity. "And let the ring just rot in Gollum's cave." She turned enough to look at him. "Though I doubt it'll stay there long now that certain assholes know it's out and about. They may not know where I got it, but they know when. They'll track us the entire way."

"Yes," Gandalf agreed. "They've already started."

"So they have." The deer were gone, having vanished entirely in the moment she'd taken her eyes off them. Farther out she spotted the first rays of the sun spilling over the edge of the horizon.

Bilba gathered up her mostly empty plate and her mug and pushed to feet. "Time to go."

She left him sitting on the bench and went back into the kitchen. There was already a stack of dishes in the sink as most of the dwarves had come and gone. Bombur was cleaning up, humming softly to himself as he gathered up crumbs and bits of abandoned cutlery to put away.

He'd still been cooking in the future she'd left behind, one of the few to find a place in Dain's kingdom, even if only in the kitchens. The last time she'd seen him had been shortly after Bofur had left, down in the rooms where the ovens always kept it hotter than Mount Doom. He'd been happy and jovial, smiling even if it hadn't reached his eyes in a very long time.

Of the five members of the Company still alive then, he'd come the closest to getting a good life, but even that had been little more than a facade.

She set her items down in the sink, then turned, braced her hands and pushed up to sit on the countertop. "One might think you were the host instead of me."

He smiled at her, an actual smile instead of the one he used to fool those who didn't know him at Erebor. "I don't mind. You did enough for us already."

Bilba chuckled. She'd always liked Bombur and had often regretted the fact she'd only gotten to know him after the quest, in bits and pieces spread out between her rare, and later forced, visits to Erebor. "All I did was supply a roof and indoor plumbing. I paid someone else to do the cooking."

Bombur piled the remaining dishes in the sink and started washing them. Bilba reached to help only to have him gently push her hand away. "It still counts. You didn't have to do anything at all."

"I suppose." He reached for a dish towel near her and she scooted back to give him room. "You wouldn't have enjoyed me trying to cook anyway. Dwalin usually wouldn't even let me try. If we were too far from a town or city he'd--"

She cut off and mentally kicked herself. She needed to pay more attention to what she said. She and Dwalin went back so far it felt like she'd always known him, so far the body she was in had barely lived in comparison. If she weren't careful she'd slip up and leave the others questioning how the two of them had known each other for decades when the body she was in was barely into adulthood.

"You two traveled together?" Bombur asked, barely looking up from what he was doing.

"From time to time," Bilba answered, hoping the answer would be vague enough to satisfy.

He nodded to himself. "How did you meet, if you don't mind my asking?"

Bilba tensed, fingers curling in tighter to where she was still clutching the edge of the countertop. "It's a long story," she settled for finally, slowly.

Dwalin walked in, as if summoned, and she felt a rush of relief. If Bombur persisted she could foist him off on Dwalin and let him come up with a story.

"Tell me you didn't give Bag End to that woman," Dwalin said, annoyed. He stopped by the table, arms crossed and stance wide as if expecting a fight.

Bilba was always more than happy to oblige. "I didn't realize it was any of your business what I did with my own things."

He scowled. "You're not planning on coming back then, after?"

Bilba's eyes narrowed. This was hardly the time or place for this discussion, and he knew it. She pushed forward, off the counter to land lightly on her feet. "Is she out there?" It was impressive to think Lobelia had gotten up so early but, then again, it was likely she'd never gone to sleep to begin with.

Dwalin studied her for a long moment. "She was," he said finally, "but I seem to have scared her off."

"Fancy that." Bilba started to head past him, only to pause as his hand fell on her shoulder. She tensed, and then simply kept walking. His hand fell away, and she continued out of the kitchen.

There were only a few members of the Company left in the house, thankfully, so she was able to get to the office and retrieve the documents Lobelia wanted without having to deal with any potential mental breakdowns, for a little while at least.

It was far too early in the morning for _that_ too.

After getting the documents she headed outside where her lane was filled to overflowing with ponies, dwarves, and hobbits doing their best to saunter past and pretend they weren't at all interested in what was going on.

She spotted Lobelia a few doors down, standing under a tree, and went to give her the documents. "Here you are, Lobelia. Thank you again for all your help. The food was excellent."

The irritated look in the other woman's eyes softened aa bit. She put her nose in the air and sniffed as she accepted them. "Well, I certainly hope the house wasn't left a mess."

"Not at all," Bilba said. It was something of a surprise, she found, how little the other woman's attitude bothered her. Perhaps it was a sign she'd matured. More than likely she simply didn't care. "I hope it brings you more contentment than it brought me."

Lobelia frowned. She'd crossed her arms and was idly tapping a foot on the ground. "Are you all right?" she finally demanded. "You had that whole...episode yesterday, and now all this," she waved her hand to encompass everything going on behind Bilba. "Are you sure you should just be leaving like this? With strangers?"

Bilba raised an eyebrow. "Why, Lobelia, are you actually concerned about me?"

"Of course not," Lobelia sputtered. "I'm just concerned that people will think I took advantage of your..." she gestured again, vaguely, with her hand. "Infirmity."

Bilba snorted. "Relax, Lobelia. My guess is they'll tell tales of the day Bilba Baggins went entirely mad, and privately rejoice in the fact that someone as respectable as you took over Bag End."

Lobelia sniffed and lifted her chin. "Well, naturally."

"Naturally." Bilba held out the documents and had them immediately snatched out of her hands. "You should probably go back for a bit though, so no one gets the idea that you and I are closer than we are."

Lobelia huffed. "Fair point." She started to turn, only to hesitate. "You take care of yourself, Bilba."

Bilba's eyes widened slightly. "I will."

"And don't let those dwarves walk all over you," the other woman added. "You've got the Baggins name to uphold."

Bilba felt a smile curve over her lips despite herself. "I won't, Lobelia."

The other woman gave a curt nod and, with that, stalked off back to her home with her head held high.

Bilba chuckled and turned back toward Bag End. It rose high at the top of the hill; the envy of many, and the pride and joy of her parents. Bilba had convinced herself that all that mattered. That the fact others envied her position meant she was in a position to be envied, and that the fact Bag End was her parent's dream meant it was hers too.

But she'd been fooling herself and, no matter how much the peace might call to her, or the nostalgia might pull at her, it wouldn't cover one vital fact.

And that was that if she'd been truly content, she'd never have run out of Bag End without a backward glance to join a bunch of strangers on an insane quest.

Most of the dwarves were already mounted, while the remainder milled about loading the two pack ponies and making sure everything was taken care of before they headed out. Bilba had a small pack she'd put together the night before but planned to pick up most of her supplies in Bree and elsewhere.

She spotted the pack now; on a familiar pony she hadn't seen in years. The animal was one of the smaller of the ponies, with a gray mane and tail. She was cute, Bilba realized with surprise and not at all the evil creature she'd been built up to be in Bilba's memory. But then, that had been her own fault hadn't it? After all, she had been the one who, having never ridden a pony or horse before, had believed it to be as simple as hopping on the saddle and telling the animal where to go.

She'd had trouble from the very start, leading to two exasperated princes lifting her into the saddle not once but three times until finally she'd --

_found herself once again lying flat on her back, staring up at the sky through tree branches and wondering idly if perhaps she should have given this whole thing a little more thought._

_Shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see the princes flanking her and leaning over their saddle horns to stare down at her, wearing matching looks of utter exasperation._

_Rude._

_Fili braced himself and leaned over, hand extended down to her. "Come on," he said. "You can ride with me for now."_

_Bilba pushed up to a seated position, only to immediately regret the decision as her tailbone complained about the new round of abuse she was subjecting it to. Fili still had his hand out, and she took a minute to study it as one might a snake of suspicious species.._

_On her still forming list of "Most Intimidating Members of the Company," Fili was third, right behind Thorin and the bald one who glowered all the time. All three Durins were intimidating, just by virtue of being royalty, but Thorin seemed to cultivate it, which moved him higher, while Kili reminded her of a puppy, which moved him lower._

_Fili, however...Fili was no puppy, and he didn't have to try and be intimidating. He simply was. He had a... presence to him, she supposed was the best way to describe it. Oh, he was kind and polite and all, but the second attention was off him he would lapse into a sort of pensive attitude, arms crossed, body barely relaxed, and eyes seeming to miss nothing._

_He had an air of command and confidence about him and, Bilba thought, had she been asked to pick out the royal instead of being told who it was she might well have pointed to Fili before Thorin._

_The look in his eye now changed slightly, and it suddenly occurred to Bilba that she'd been keeping him waiting. Kili was still there on her other side but, ahead of them, the rest of the Company was steadily moving farther away. They'd stopped the other times she'd fallen off but had apparently decided this was simply going to be a thing with her and didn't warrant attention._

_Bilba sent a glower toward them, and then reached up to grab Fili's hand. He was wearing fingerless gloves and, as she grabbed his hand, she was startled to feel a strange buzz race through her. It started at the point where her fingers were in contact with his and spread throughout the rest of her body, like a current of heat running through her veins._

_His grip tightened and he hauled her to her feet before releasing her. Bilba stared at her palm as if it belonged to someone else, still feeling the heat as it slowly faded. She glanced up at Fili, but he was staring past her at the departing Company, an intense look on his face as he watched them get farther and farther away._

_Bilba cleared her throat and shot a venomous glance toward the beast currently masquerading as her pony. "I can probably try again, if you want."_

_"Not today," Fili said, voice flat. "We'll work on it tonight when we make camp."_

_He nodded to Kili as he spoke, and his brother grabbed the reins of Bilba's pony and started forward, taking it up to meet the Company. That left Bilba with the option of walking or riding with Fili so, with a nervous smile and with her stomach tightening uncomfortably, she moved toward the back of his pony._

_"Not there," Fili barely turned his head to look at her. "Unless you want to spend the next few hours with two swords in your face."_

_Bilba blinked in surprise. She'd forgotten he had those two weapons strapped to his back. She chewed on her lip, and then obediently walked forward and lifted her hands up. It would be fine, she told herself firmly. The only difference between riding in front and behind was the scenery._

_He grabbed her hands and easily lifted her, up and over one leg so she was effectively sitting in his lap. Bilba suddenly found herself inches from a very broad, very masculine chest and realized that, in fact, there was indeed a difference between riding in front and in back._

_She'd never been that...close to a male before. Ever._

_Eyes wide, and face absolutely on fire, she managed to awkwardly get herself into a position so that she was sitting astride instead of sideways on the pony. Her heart was thudding in her chest, and her eyes were so wide it was a wonder they didn't pop out of her head. She braced her hands on the pony's neck and leaned forward, trying to lessen the amount of contact between them._

_"You might want to relax," Fili's voice said from behind, and over her. "It's a long ride to Bree. You'll end up with muscle cramps."_

_"Oh," Bilba's voice sounded high pitched and a little tight and her face got even hotter. She was going to die of embarrassment, that was it. She'd go down in history books for it. "We wouldn't want that."_

_"Are you all right?" Fili asked. "If you want, you can ride, and I'll walk alongside."_

_Bilba's eyes, impossibly, widened further and her entire body went cold. She could just imagine how that would look, making a crown prince walk while she rode. Thorin was already less than impressed with her. Shaming his nephew like that -- he'd not only kick her off the quest but would probably make her walk back home._

_"No, it's okay." Carefully, she walked her hands back on the pony's mane, sitting up straighter as she did. Her back met his chest, and she jumped a bit as if she'd just dipped a toe into a particularly cold pool. Then, she took a deep breath, gathered all her courage, and sat up all the way._

_Her back was now pressed fully against his chest and she could feel the inside of his thighs and legs where they ran along the outside of hers. The presence of his armor, heavy coat, belt, boots and weapons straps helped a little but, still._

_Closet. She'd. Ever. Been. To. A. Male._

_His arms appeared on either side of her and, a moment later, she felt him kick his heels against the pony and make a clicking noise. The pony jumped forward into a trot to catch up to the others, and Bilba was forced back harder into him._

_At this rate, she'd die from sheer mortification long before they got anywhere near the mountain, or the dragon that supposedly lay within._

Fingers snapped in front of her face and Bilba jumped. In front of her, Dwalin gave her an exasperated look. "Next time I'm going to throw something at you."

"Next time I'll throw it back," Bilba retorted sharply. She scowled, eyes catching on Thorin where he was trying to hurry everyone up through sheer force of will. "I can't believe he ever allowed me to go in the first place. I was about as useful as a sack of rocks."

Dwalin chuckled. "Don't imagine he had much choice."

Bilba found that hard to believe. Thorin had never had a single problem making his own will known, and particularly to Gandalf who'd been the entire reason she'd been along to begin with.

Movement caught her attention and, without thinking, she looked toward the doorway of Bag End, just in time to get a square eyeful of the Crown Prince of Erebor striding down the steps.

For a second, just a split second, her heart stopped, and her breath caught in her throat because it was _him_. Exactly as he had been, exactly as her memories painted him. Her heart leapt in her chest, her mind shouted with happiness and she almost, _almost_ did exactly what Dwalin had claimed he thought she'd do.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, he turned his eyes toward her, empty of warmth or even a hint of recognition, and the dream shattered. A searing, sharp pain lanced straight through her but before it could splinter the broken parts of her into even smaller pieces it suddenly veered and went into an emotion even she couldn't have predicted.

Rage.

It flooded her veins before she even registered it was happening, and well after she'd have had any chance of resisting it.

How dare he? How _dare_ he look like her One? How dare he dress the same and walk the same and look the same and have the same eyes, but _not be him?_

It was utterly and entirely irrational, and she knew it but couldn't stop it. It wasn't his fault, and she knew that too, but still couldn't stop it.

She was _hurting_. She'd been hurting, for such a long time and the only thing that had kept her going was the thought of getting to see him again and now she had, _and it wasn't him._

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes once again, but this time they were from the sheer force of the anger coursing through her. She wanted to scream, shout, and break something all at once.

Instead she dug her nails into her palms until the skin split, swallowed past the rock lodged in her throat, and wrenched her eyes away from him. She didn't care what he thought, what any of them thought.

She strode to her pony, slid a foot into the stirrup and easily pulled herself into the saddle. The animal shied a bit under her, sidestepping, but she stayed with it, gathering the reins in one hand and pulling the animal to a stop.

Dwalin was beside her on his own pony, studying her with an expression that almost crossed the line into sympathy.

"Don't," she almost snarled. "Just don't."

At the front of the line, Thorin mounted his own pony, Gandalf, next to him, and gave the order to move out. He was riding beside Thorin on one side with Balin near him on the other. Bilba moved her pony in behind them and felt, more than saw, Dwalin fall in alongside her.

The princes, she knew, would be riding in the back, at the very end of the line, which was fine with her.

The less she saw of him, of either of them, the better.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had people ask me before if I had a Tumblr and I now do! It's  
> https://d3-iseefire.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'll be (and have already been) posting mood boards, playlists, story excerpts (maybe even from stuff I haven't finished or alternate versions of stuff I've put up), and whatever else strikes my tiny heart's fancy. :) :) I've got a mood board for an original story I want to write, and one for Ash & Phoenix. :D I've put up two mood boards for this story and a playlist, and fromtheboundlesssea put up awesome boards for LSL and She Walks in Darkness so check those out if you have a chance! :D https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/
> 
> So, anyhoo, it's there and I look forward to seeing you all over there if you like! In the between time, I present to you Chapter 13 of "She Walks in Shadow"! :D

"She hates me."

Beside him, Kili barely twitched. Fili waited patiently as the glazed look in his brother's eyes slowly faded and his mind returned from its wanderings.

His brother did not do well with boredom. Over the years, Kili had perfected the ability of just...going away during such times to some place in his head where boredom didn't exist. It used to drive their mother and uncle crazy but eventually the two had resigned themselves to it.

Kili suddenly twisted in his saddle to look behind them and Fili resisted the urge to shout at him.

He settled for hissing, "Could you maybe act a little less obvious?"

"Relax," Kili turned back and settled into his saddle again. "They've stopped so she can do push-ups again."

Fili could almost feel Kili's eyes boring into him. He stubbornly fixed his eyes on his uncle's back where he rode at the front of the line, tightened his grip on the pony's reins and held his back so rigid his muscles began to cramp.

He was the rightful Crown Prince of Erebor, damn it. He was _not_ going to give in to the urge to turn around, and especially not with his little brother trying to silently goad him into it.

"Hmph" Kili grumbled after a minute. "You're no fun."

Fili ignored him. Bilba and Dwalin must have been close when they halted because he could hear the faint, albeit fading, sound of their voices. He wished they would either speak quieter so he couldn't hear them at all, or louder so he could understand them.

Beside him, Kili twisted in his saddle again, one hand braced on the saddle. This time Fili snarled at him under his breath. "Really?"

"Oh, relax," Kili settled into his saddle again. "There's no rule that says I can't look on my own. It's kind of fun watching her. I almost want to challenge her to a push-up contest."

Fili let out a small huff and his lips quirked. "Give her a few days and you probably can."

Bilba had started out riding near their uncle but kept stopping to dismount and go through a full calisthenic routine. The rest of them had stopped for her the first few times, but when it became apparent this was going to be a thing they'd simply continued and let her catch up. Dwalin was the only one who kept waiting, eventually leaving the two of them behind the rest of the Company.

"She's certainly committed to getting in shape," Kili said cheerfully.

"She's in fine enough shape as it is," Fili muttered. "Even if she wasn't, we have months before we're anywhere near Erebor. She doesn't need to kill herself." Kili barely turned his head, but Fili saw his brother's eyes cut toward him in a slightly exaggerated manner and he scowled. "What?"

Kili shrugged innocently. "Just questioning how it is that Lord Responsible came to be obsessed with a woman who hates him _and_ is with someone else." Kili leaned over, bracing one foot in his stirrup as he shifted most of his weight to that leg. "Dwalin, by the way. The someone else is _Dwalin_."

Fili's jaw clenched and his gut twisted. For the briefest instance, he felt something truly ugly, and utterly irrational, toward the dwarf who'd treated him and Kili like sons after their father's death. Then the feeling faded, and he shook his head as if he could somehow physically dislodge the remnants. "I thought you said she didn't hate me."

Kili tilted his head toward him. "I said she was doing push-ups. She absolutely hates you."

Fili glared at him, but it only got him a grin in return. "Has anyone actually said she's with Dwalin? They could just be friends."

"You hope they're just friends," Kili corrected, grin widening. He was clearly enjoying this turn as the more responsible brother. Then his expression turned serious, and that was almost worse. There was very little in life that Kili took seriously if he could help it. "Just what's going on with you? You literally just met her yesterday, and I don't think you've even exchanged two words yet."

Fili shook his head and pressed his lips together in a tight line. "It's not like that," he argued in annoyance. "I'm just wondering what her issue is with me."

"Sure," Kili said in disbelief. "That's why you've spent the better part of the morning talking about her." His eyes widened as a thought hit him. "Maybe it's proof Dwalin likes me better than you. He's been filling her head with stories about you and your bad decisions."

" _My_ bad decisions?" Fili asked incredulously. "Of the two of us I don't think I'm the one with poor decision-making skills."

Kili tilted his head and looked upward before conceding. "Fine. I have no idea why she hates you. Maybe you should just ask her. Or just grab her and kiss her, whatever."

A mental image of Bilba kissing Dwalin raced unbidden through his mind and Fili's mood soured. Then it soured further _because_ the image bothered him, and he had no idea why. It was idiotic, and irrational and he didn't _do_ things like this. He wasn't a child prone to silly infatuations over random women _._ "I have no desire to kiss her, or anyone else for that matter."

"Suit yourself," Kili said airily. "Bree is the last town we'll be hitting before Lake-town and I, for one, intend to have a good time before spending months slowly dying of boredom."

"I wouldn't, if I were you," Fili warned. "You barely convinced Amad and Uncle to let you come. You go off carousing, you'll probably find yourself walking back home while the rest of us go ahead."

Kili's good humor vanished and he glowered. "You're like a miniature version of Uncle sometimes, you know that?"

"It's been mentioned," Fili muttered absently. He forced his eyes to focus on the scenery on both sides of the path, to get his mind off Bilba Baggins and anything associated with her. Maybe he could learn whatever Kili's technique was and just go away inside his head for a while.

They'd only been traveling an hour or so, along a quiet path lined on both sides by trees. The day was cooler under the canopy, but still hot enough to raise a low sheen of sweat that prickled on the back of his neck. The pony's hooves kicked up a small layer of dust that clung to him and left him feeling covered in grime, while simultaneously drying out his throat and giving him a constant urge to cough.

Dimly, past the clomp of the ponies and the low murmur of the Company members, he could hear the chirp of birds deeper in the forest, the buzz of insects that would probably be trying to eat him alive soon, and the faint rustle of animals moving through the underbrush.

His eyes caught on a massive, ancient oak tree growing near the path. The trunk was crooked and narrow, winding up into twisted branches that rose high over their heads. One branch hung low over the path, close enough to touch if he reached up.

They passed it, leaving it behind and, without fully understanding why, Fili found himself grabbing the back of his saddle to twist and look behind him.

Bilba and Dwalin had stopped and dismounted beneath the oak tree. Bilba said something to Dwalin who, with an exasperated expression, knelt, wrapped his arms around her legs and stood back up, lifting her straight into the air.

Bilba braced a hand on his shoulder before grabbing the low hanging branch and shoving her hand in to fish amongst the leaves. After a moment, Dwalin loosened his hold and she dropped to the path beside him. Fili saw her hand, clenched into a fist, but couldn't see what she held.

She flashed a tight smile at Dwalin, an action that caused Fili's heart to jolt in his chest, and then her eyes lifted and locked with his. For a second, so fast he wasn't sure he even saw it, a look of almost unbearable pain flashed over her. Then her eyes went flat and she pulled her gaze away, breaking the connection.  

"I really am a bad influence," Kili said from next to him, back to his cheerfulness already. There was little that could get Kili down and, on the rare occasion it did happen it was never for long. "Forget about it. Even if you could make it past the hatred, and _Dwalin,_ you'd _still_ find yourself facing off against half the Company."

Fili's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What? How's that possible? They just met her last night."

"You just met her last night," Kili pointed out.

"I just want to know why she hates me," Fili repeated through clenched teeth.

"You keep telling yourself that," his brother replied airily. "Maybe one day someone will actually believe you."

Fili shook his head in irritation and decided to change the subject. "What's this about the rest of the Company?"

"She's a badass" Kili explained. "Strong willed, in control, pretty--"

"Beautiful," Fili corrected. "She's beautiful."

"Right," Kili said dryly. "Noticed that while you were wondering why she hated you, huh?"

Fili ignored him. Any idiot with a brain could see that Bilba Baggins was a beautiful woman, even with the, yet unexplained, black eye spreading across her face, choppy uneven haircut and oversized clothes that clearly weren't hers.

Fili hadn't been surprised to see her later with a new haircut. Dori had been watching her all evening, fingers twitching as if he already wielded shears.  

Kili was still talking and, with effort, Fili refocused on him. "She's the sort of woman who'd draw attention back home, and she's certainly drawing it here."

Fili snorted. The sort of woman who drew attention in Ered Luin was a woman, period. Dwarven women were in short supply, so much so that the few there were often dressed as men to avoid being constantly harassed by single male dwarves looking for a mate.

Still, he understood what Kili was saying. It was bred into them from an early age that the search for a mate, assuming you even wanted one, was a competition for a rare prize that few obtained. It got so fierce at times that, when Gloin and Bera married, two dwarves petitioned their uncle to try and stop it, citing they had more of a right to her than Gloin did.  

Uncle simply laughed and sent them into a room where their mother and Bera had been waiting. Fili had no idea what had happened, but when the two dwarves had come out they'd been pale and quiet. They'd both bowed to his uncle, apologized for bothering him, and then proceeded to move to the Iron Hills.

In any event, finding a mate wasn't easy within dwarven society and most were too caught up in their own crafts and lives to bother leaving to search for one in outside society.

Which meant having a woman like Bilba Baggins, who was behaving far more like a proper dwarven woman than a hobbit woman, and who was guaranteed to be in their company for the foreseeable future was far too great an opportunity to pass up. Now that he thought about it, it was a wonder the entire Company, sans Gloin and possibly his uncle, hadn't already taken notice of her.

Speaking of which...

"What about you?" he asked, keeping his voice level.

Kili laughed. "No, thank you. Unlike you, I have no desire to have Dwalin angry at me."

Fili nodded slowly. "Neither do I."

"Good," Kili said with a nod. "Then start thinking about something else. Maybe they'll be an interested barmaid at the inn, and you can get your mind off what you can't have."

 Fili's eyebrows drew together, and he braced a hand on his thigh to study his brother. "Who are you and what did you do with my brother?"

Kili shrugged. "I don't know, maybe the boredom is affecting me. What do you say we have a shooting challenge?" He held up his bow as he spoke, and Fili laughed as he relaxed back into his saddle.

"There's the brother I know and love."

***

""They're wasting arrows."

Dwalin sighed. "It'll be good practice."

Bilba pursed her lips as she watched Kili send another arrow whipping at some unseen target in the woods. "And what happens when they accidentally hit a Ranger?"

Dwalin frowned at her. "They aren't careless. They wouldn't fire at something unless they knew it was clear."

"Of course you'd stick up for them," Bilba muttered, covering over the barb of hurt that sliced through her. She'd always known Dwalin only stayed by her side because of his loyalty to the line of Durin. In the end even that hadn't been enough to keep him there forever and, really, she knew that so getting hurt over being reminded was simply idiotic.

With a grimace, she shifted in her saddle. Her old body had muscle and padding in all the right places. This one did not, and it promised a miserable time until she got re-used to riding for hours at a time.

Idly, she tightened her hand around the small acorn in her hand. Useless sentimentality. She couldn't even be sure it was the same one; it most likely wasn't, all things considered. She'd only grabbed it because --

She didn't know why.

Maybe she just enjoyed torturing herself. Picking away at a wound, unable to stop in spite of the sharp stings of pain encouraging her to do just that.

...she'd forgotten that tree.

She'd believed she remembered every second of that first trip. Every word, every smile...but she hadn't. Hadn't remembered a single bit of that tree until she'd seen it and suddenly it had all come flooding back.

_The tree was so magnificent, so majestic that it caused her to forget all about the awkwardness of her position._

_She sat up straight with an audible gasp and a laugh of pure joy, nearly managing to clock Fili in the chin in the process._

_"Do you see that?" she asked in excitement, pointing at the tree. "Isn't it beautiful?"_

_"I guess?" Fili replied dubiously. "It's just a tree."_

_"Just a--" Bilba leaned her head back to look up at him. "Uncultured swine."_

_His eyes narrowed and he studied her as if she'd just sprouted horns. "I beg your pardon?"_

_"You may not." Bilba said with a huff. She couldn't flounce away like Lobelia would have, so she settled for whirling to face away from him and crossing her arms. As she did, she saw they were passing directly under the tree and a low hanging branch was almost directly over her head, heavy with acorns._

_Bilba braced her hands on Fili's thighs and pushed, trying to scramble to her feet. He made an unintelligible exclamation, wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled the pony to a halt with the other._

_Bilba shoved at his arm, squirmed free and managed to gingerly get to her feet on the pony's back. She reached up and snatched an acorn, before unceremoniously losing her balance and falling with a shriek that quickly turned into laughter._

_Fili's arms caught her and dragged her back against his chest. Bilba ended up far closer than she'd ever expected to be, with her legs draped over his and, oh yeah, **now she remembered her current circumstances.**_

_White hot heat flooded her face and she scrambled away from him, or as much as one could when sharing a saddle with said other person. Lifting her eyes revealed the entire Company had come to a stop to watch her antics and now it was quite possible she might actually die from sheer mortification._

_Thorin called something back in another language (seriously, so rude. How was she supposed to know if he was talking about her or not?) and Fili replied in the same, tone almost bored._

_Thorin looked annoyed but he pulled his pony back around and the rest of the Company obediently fell in behind. Kili, who'd stopped nearby to witness her humiliation, also started off again, leaving them momentarily alone._

_Bilba looked down at the small acorn in her hands and couldn't help the smile that spread across her face._

_"What are you planning to do with that?" Fili asked._

_"Plant it somewhere when I get home," she said happily._

_"When you get home?" Fili repeated blankly. "You do realize how long we'll be gone, right?_

_Bilba shrugged. "It'll be just like carrying a small piece of the Shire."_

_A slow smirk spread across his face. "Funny, I thought the same thing when you started riding with me."_

_Heat flared across Bilba's face and she glared at him._

_He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her back, before his eyebrows suddenly knit together and his eyes narrowed. "Wait, we're barely outside the Shire and on the main road. How have you never seen this tree before?"_

_"I don't get out much," Bilba said, with just the tiniest hint of guilt. She hadn't meant for any of them to find that out._

_"You've never been outside the Shire?" Fili asked, dumbfounded. "And you thought your first trip should be to Erebor?"_

_Holding her body halfway around to see him was uncomfortable so Bilba settled forward again and studied the pony's mane. She lightly kicked at the animal's side in the hopes of convincing it to start moving and carry her away from this conversation, but it stubbornly refused to obey._

_"Are you sure about this?" Fili asked seriously. "You can still turn back."_

_"I already signed the contract," Bilba argued softly._

_"Uncle won't hold you to it," Fili countered. He'd wrapped an arm around her waist at some point and squeezed her back against his chest. "What about your family? Did you even tell them you were leaving?"_

_"I doubt they'll even notice I'm gone," Bilba said honestly. Lobelia would probably hope she was gone for good, allowing her to move into Bag End, while the rest of her family didn't even live in Hobbiton and rarely saw her as it was._

_Bilba leaned her head back, pressing her entire back against his chest and resting her head against his shoulder to look up at him. "Do you want me to go home?"_

_As she spoke, she rested a hand on his where it was locked around her waist. It was incredibly forward of her, and not at all like her, but she couldn't seem to help it. As much as this entire thing was awkward and he was intimidating (and he was **very** intimidating), she also felt a strange sort of...familiarity with him. As if they were simply two very old friends meeting again after a long time apart. _

_It was comforting and deeply disturbing, at the same time._

_Fili grimaced, and Bilba's good humor faded. He turned his head to the path behind them. "No, you can't go back now."_

_He seemed annoyed by it and Bilba resisted the urge to apologize. Instead she quietly cupped her hands around her acorn and kept her head down. She didn't mean to be a burden, honest, she didn't._

_At the front of the Company, Thorin turned halfway around to shout something at Fili, still in another language. He responded in kind, even more annoyed than before, and kicked the pony into a brisk trot._

_As he did, Bilba tightened her grip around the acorn and silently promised that she'd find a way to make herself useful. She'd be like the acorn, a little seed ready to sprout into a wonderful oak tree. Then they'd be happy she'd come and everyone would stop scowling all the time._

_Well, mainly Thorin. Thorin would stop scowling all the time._

_That would be nice._

The memory faded and an all too familiar pain settled deep into her bones.

Bilba looked down at the acorn in her hand and bit back a laugh at how utterly naive she'd been back then. So sure she'd have a fun adventure, prove her worth to the Company and return a hero with a plethora of stories to tell. She'd even thought she'd return to find her family looking after Bag End and ready to throw a party to celebrate her return. She'd plant her oak tree and, once it was big enough, she'd hang a porch swing from it. Every afternoon she'd go to sit in it with a cup of tea and people would gather from far and wide to listen to her tell her grand story of adventure.

None of that had happened. Instead of the hero returning to accolades and applause she'd returned broken to an empty house and the whispers of vindictive gossips.

"Foolish girl," she whispered to the acorn. "You really did know nothing of the world, did you?"

She scowled and then tossed the acorn into the bushes on the side of the trail.

Beside her, she could feel Dwalin's eyes studying her, but he said nothing.

Together, they rode on in silence. 


End file.
